Alpträume Wirklichkeit
by Yuruki14
Summary: Past and present collide in a swirl of conflicting outlooks when South Park's twelfth grade English class must study the tragic historic events that plagued Germany when WWII broke out. An autobiography assigned to Kyle and his friends called Alpträume Wirklichkeit is a translation of a spoken tale from a man who survived the Holocaust and fell in love with a Nazi soldier. Kyman
1. Chapter 1

Hello! (Or should I say Hallo?) I commend you for clicking on my story! I've strayed away from my mafia obsession for a lil, although I have two more coming out and another Kenny/Kyle (a oneshot this time) waiting to be completed, and INSTEAD have decided to write a Holocaust fic. There's no better pairing for this story to revolve around than the bastard neo-Nazi himself and his favorite Jinger Jersey Jew friend/rival. I love to read Kyman, believe me… but I've never written a Kyman fic because let's get real here… it takes an awful lot of talent to get that pairing down perfectly. I'm gunna try as hard as I can, so don't yell if the update's are slow!

Anyway, the inspiration for this story came because, ironically, school's back in session aaaand I'm taking a semester course on the Holocaust. I'm going to make this story my top priority, at least for as long as I have the class, but after I'm out I don't know how much I'll update. I WISH I could promise you a chapter every week, but if I did that they'd most likely be all different lengths and inconsistent chapters annoy me when I read, so I wouldn't wanna do the same to you all. I don't wanna make this story super long just for the fast that I NEED it to be finished under all circumstances, but at the same time I do want it to be a looooong romance story, soooo we'll see.

Anyway, any questions, comments, or concerns about the A/N, please PM me or review and enjoy the first chapter! No short, teasing prologues for this baby!

Summary: Past and present collide in a swirl of conflicting outlooks when South Park's twelfth grade English class must study the tragic historic events that plagued Germany when WWII broke out. An autobiography assigned to Kyle and his friends called _Alpträume Wirklichkeit_, is a translation of a spoken tale from a man who survived the Holocaust. Although long dead, the man tells of a romance forbidden by God, his people, and the one's who enslaved and murdered millions, between the captured Jew himself and the Nazi General that ran his camp. Bright as Kyle is, he catches on to the similarities and questions his own feelings for his friend/rival Eric Cartman. Kyman.

Rated M for a reason, I don't own South Park. If I did, it wouldn't be the South Park I love today because I'd corrupt it with yaoi goodness haha

Be prepared for a history lesson or two… or a lot. I'm a huge history nerd. Like, terribly so.

**Alpträume Wirklichkeit**

**Chapter 1 Genocide**

"Genocide."

After listening to the brief explanation of what to busy ourselves with from our teacher, I reluctantly open my tattered notebook that I've been using since the beginning of the school year. I can't describe enough how angry I've become just at the mere mention of that word… it means such a great deal to me and all my people. As I chew lightly on the eraser top of my pencil, it doesn't take long for my quick mind to form the words nor my hands to write them out. Before I mark something down I'll instantaneously regret, I take one last drawn out look at what's written on the green chalkboard in front of the classroom and a few deep, calming breaths later I'm jotting down exactly how I feel about, not the word itself, but the terrible meaning and impact that one word can have.

_When speaking of wars fought by people of all the generations of Earth, it's nearly nonpolitical in degree to not mention genocide. That's all warfare is—mass killings of the people another civilization doesn't get along with or hates for unfathomable reasons just to obtain something they want. Take into consideration American history and that's all we've ever done. The English killed off the Native Americans (first it was unintentional: Small Pox, Influenza, etc. They brought diseases that the Natives didn't have an immunity to.) because when they invaded the coasts of Pennsylvania and Virginia, they were forcing their way into the "New World" and not giving the Natives, the rightful owners of the land, any choice in the matter. And we can say, well, the Indians believe that the land belongs to everyone so they shouldn't have been offended at all by it, but really, what they did was ignorant. As time went on the Natives started to realize, 'hey, these people are down right hostile and are killing off our people, they call us savages when they're the ones being so vigorous, so it's time we step it up and demand our right to live on this land' and that inevitably got them killed because they were made up of hundreds of little, unorganized tribes and the English and French had big, thousand men armies. The angry pioneers couldn't have been happy with the Indian retaliation, either. Even though the Natives weren't killed all at once, and were instead seemingly pushed out of their homes and beaten, it's still a form of genocide._

_ Still in American history, the Civil War was just as terrible. Historians calculate it to be one of the bloodiest battles ever fought on American soil. The northern Union verses the southern Confederacy, slavery against abolitionists, state against state, brothers fighting brothers! Throw in the Mexicans that are trying to win the land back that was taken from them and the Texans that are out for blood and the people in New York who like to call themselves the "Natives" because they were born in the U.S., but are really just a street fighting gang, and you got one hell of a fight going on there. Once again, it was practically genocide. _

_ Then if you move onto WWI and WWII, there are things that happen in those wars… that make the American Civil War look like it was merely a shoot off between rival gangs. Think about it, if a conflict is so massive that it effects all of the world in one way or another, there's gotta be something wrong with mankind to let it get to such a huge problem. I think we should all take a deep breath, drink some tea with a little relaxation serum stirred into it, and think about what we're doing before we do it. Obviously some issues can't be resolved like that, but if we calm down enough to think rationally, we might actually be getting somewhere with it instead of focusing all of our hatred on one certain kind of people and committing genocide._

_ Genocide._

_ What sick terminology._

"Describe what emotions pass through you as you read this word to yourself." That's what the original directions were. Not that I mean to disobey her, but if I were to write exactly as she wants me to, she'd probably send me to the guidance counselor to discuss what the hell I've been smokin' and where the sudden burst of anger came from (she'd probably blame steroids—because scrawny nerd boys take pills _all_ the time) then suggest I go to rehab. She'd call my parents… and it would just be an over all bad experience for all of us. Mom may even have heart failure if a teacher told her that her precious straight-A son who never, ever disobeys is causing problems in the classroom.

My race was killed by people who were ignorant and self-righteous. I don't think anyone who wasn't effected in some way by murder themselves can really comprehend my feelings. But that's alright because I understand that most people are unaware, and if they aren't they sometimes choose to be just for the bliss of not knowing.

Even with my tiny, precise cursive handwriting, I fill up the front of a notebook sheet in no time at all—which is ultimately unnecessary because I only need one paragraph's worth of sentences on this topic. What can I say, I'm an overachiever.

In order to rip my mind from everything, I focus my undivided attention on every syllable our teacher forms, every sound she enunciates. "Yes, Kenneth?" I almost forgot about the world outside of my inner thoughts and debates until my teacher's voice crashes like ocean waves against the shore of my eardrums and thrusts my train of thought from my odium's negativity.

Shifting my gaze to Kenny, as it's the only thing I can do to clear my head, I see him rubbing the back of his scalp in uncertainty with a sheepish grin plastered on his sunken face. "What were we supposed to write about again?"

In the seventh grade Ken decided to rid himself of his signature orange parka, like the rest of us did away with our childhood identities, and for the first time since our superhero days we were able to fully understand what the hell he talked about. Since then, although his favorite color still remains, he's never put anything over his mouth to muffle the sound, so his voice now is just _Kenny_. Sultry, as though the heavens above wanted everything about the McCormick boy to be seductive. Wise, but childish. Intelligent, but with a hick drawl to it that counteracts. _Masculine _and misleading all at the same time, like he's two sides intertwining together to make a McCormick. But that's Kenny for you, perverted in nature, but a genius in maths.

Stan Marsh is also in my English class, and if there's one thing that's stayed the same through the years, it's our relationship as super best friends. We're always together, and if we aren't then we're constantly texting and calling one another. People in our school don't put us in separate categories, as in, nobody can talk about Stan without dropping something in about me, too, and visa versa. It's always _'Stan and Kyle,'_ and there just is no one without the other. Some even say we have a secret fling going on behind everyone's back (cough Cartman cough), which isn't the case. Stan's girlfriend Wendy Testaberger can verify that.

Even now, when we're just two measly seats away from each other, he's set his deep blue eyes on me and I, him, shaking our heads at Kenny and mouthing out our own, confidential language that the four amigo's made up in elementary school. Stan gets this glint of amusement in his navy orbs and says in words that only I and our two other friends can understand, "Kenny, dude."

If we weren't in the middle of class I'd let my laughter out, but since we are I chuckle to myself, straight, white teeth glowing in the florescent lighting, "Yeah, Kenny…"

Since I mentioned my two best friends, I might as well put in my two bits about Cartman. Eric happens to be in the seat behind me, and sees me interact with Stan. He, like us, knows what we're saying, but isn't much interested. I think he's still trying to figure out what to write for the bell ringer assignment the teacher only gave out to keep us busy while she takes role. Like the three of us, he's changed since we were kids, him more so than any of us, however. His once double chin has lengthened and thinned out, arms and legs are now mostly muscled, and his torso is no longer flabby. Now, he practically looks human. He's almost managed to turn all of his 'baby' fat into rock hard mass through weight training and football practice, and I can say this because in one of our more recent brawls I found that I couldn't beat him with my strength alone—Stan and Kenny had to pull him off of me.

Cartman joined football at the start of high school, and I think he's really miserable about having to stop once he graduates. He enjoys it, as it keeps his mind from other things. Still, his considerable transformation from two hundred fifty pounds of jiggly flab to two-ten of mighty power is almost unbelievable.

Eric and I don't fight as much as we used to. Of course, we only fought so much before because of my uncontrollable temper and his prejudice views of the Jews and his need to control everything like it's his. Nowadays we look onto ourselves as more of rivals than hated enemies, partially because I've mellowed out and partially because he did too. But still, we do sometimes fight, and it isn't at all measly weak competitions.

In order to rip my mind from them, I focus back into reality and let the teacher's lexis find me. "You're telling me what the word means to you. Where have you heard this word before? Where have you seen it been used? What are some of the most famous genocide cases you've learned about?" The teacher, Ms. Kiemal, explains. "Just write a few sentences down on what you feel or think about when you see this word."

"So what you're saying is that I need to give you a paragraph about an event like WWII… the Holocaust makes me feel? Ms. Kiemal, there isn't a paragraph long enough." Word, Kenny, word. That's exactly how I feel, only I wasn't straight to the point about it like you.

"Ah, while I approve of your upbeat enthusiasm about doing more work than I actually intended from you for once, I'm glad you brought up the Holocaust, Mr. McCormick. Someone was bound to; I just didn't expect it to be you." An interesting gleam sparkles in her eyes as she leans back against her desk to observe us. She instinctually pulls off her glasses as a means to look us all directly in the eye. From previous experiences, this usually means she's about to say something very important. Her demeanor changes and everything turns serious, in an innovative way. "But yes, young man, that is exactly what I meant."

"Then why not just say that instead of using awkward metaphors?"

"Teachers in Japan never tell their students exactly what they want and only use metaphors. It lets their students take their own perspective of the question and use their own minds, a philosophy I've decided to pick up."

"Is that why everyone over there is so smart and come up with crazy original ideas for video games and movies?"

"Mm… maybe. This act definitely broadens their horizons, but there is creativity throughout the world, not just in Japan."

"Right, like with the Scottish and their sexy kilts."

The class erupts in snickers and giggles, Kenny's a character and even I bust out my own corny laugh. "Please, Kenneth, be respectful. Anyway, it's true that the Holocaust was one of the most famous mass genocides in the world, but there are others. Mao Zedong killed sixty-four million Chinese during the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution, his own people! That's way more than Hitler could've ever dreamed possible. Joseph Vissarionovich Stalin was just a couple million lives less guilty, but he killed people for political reasons during the Great Purge. The thing you guys have to realize is that all of these people were sick in the head and killed people for the most ridiculous reasons and yet they still ended up killing so many because they were masters at manipulation. It's almost unbelievable that the people didn't rise against these deranged individuals.

"That's why speech classes are so important, and why the president has to be a great speaker. Otherwise, nobody listens to what they say. Hitler's superior speech giving, the emotions he used while he spoke to his people, even possibly the tense he spoke in, all contributed to why people loved hearing him, even now.

"Luckily for me and all of you, Kenneth made the connection that you all should've. I wasn't trying to get you to think about the Great Purge or the atomic bomb we dropped on Hiroshima. I was, in fact, implying towards one of the many genocides that happened in World War II, the deaths of six million Jews orchestrated by Adolf Hitler."

She's so lively during her speech, so direct and forthcoming that we all remain silent as she russles around in one of her big cabinets. You can see it in all of our eyes as we reflect on what just transpired. Yeah, mankind is a selfish, ignorant, tyrannical lot, we've heard that a million times throughout our history classes and internet and local and global news and just about anywhere else we can find past and recent articles on the horrible stuff we, as a human race, often do. A moment later she reemerges from behind the opened cabinet door, an old styled contraption within her grasps.

When I get a better look at it, I realize it's a projector. An ancient one, at that, one that looks like half of a pipe organ and stands on three triangular legs. It's got to date clear back to the eighteen hundreds, which is so incredibly odd and I'm sure half the class has no idea what the fuck this thing is. "Someone hit the lights." As the teacher walks to the front of the room to pull down the paper-like white screen that rolls up to the ceiling when its not in use, Token Black, one of the only colored students in all of South Park, walks over towards the door to cast the entire room into complete darkness.

The clacking of the brown heels Ms. Kiemal wore today drags on as she walks back to the antique. At first I think that something that old shouldn't be able to work properly, if at all, but when the teacher takes the pump in her hands, it works just as well as any projector here in school. A gut-wrenching gasp threatens to escape out of my throat when I see the picture on the screen before me. I nearly jump out of my seat when the huge, unmistakable face of _Adolf Hitler_ meets my eyes.

_Hitler._

"I'm well-aware that all of you have learned just about everything about the horrific events that plagued our earth during World War II. Somebody give me a brief summary of what the Holocaust was to refresh everyone's memories."

A few people raise their hands, but the teacher ultimately calls on just one person—the only one person that takes pleasure from talking about this particular event in history, Eric Cartman. "It was the annihilation, the attempted end, to all of the Jewrats that wanted to take over the German country."

The instant that sentence registers in my brain, I'm snapping around to spit in his face, "my people aren't insane pricks who like to murder millions of citizens just because they're a little different. That's the Nazi's, Cartman. That's you."

"You lot are a bunch of nasty ginger Jews, too greedy to care what race you fuck up, Kahl."

"Don't belittle my people, fatass!"

"Well, I'm sorry, Kahl. I can't help it if your ugly Jewish family are a bunch of Jersey-born dumbasses that believe a star named after some hobo is a symbol of greatness."

"Gah, Cartman, you fucking—"

That's enough, both of you, or I'll send you to the principal." I grind my pearly teeth in frustration, an endeavor to keep in my rage. Slowly, stiffly, I ease back around in my chair, and reluctantly I keep my mouth shut from sending back a retort. "But, yes, Eric, you're almost correct." I can practically feel his pink tongue poke out at me between his lips in taunt from behind me.

"This man in front of us is obviously Hitler, the man known notoriously throughout the nations as the man who wanted perfection in the German race, and wished to eradicate the "impurities," which not only pertains to the Jews, but also the blacks, the homosexuals, and the ladies of the evening.

"I apologize, this isn't a history lesson, but for the next five months we will be reading and discussing one of my favorite books of all time. It just so happens that this book takes place during the time of and centers on the Holocaust, so I figured a little history review wouldn't hurt."

"Your favorite book is about the Holocaust?"

"Well, it isn't really so much about the events, as… the portrayed characters. Plus, it's based on a real story so that makes it ten times better."

"So… it's like Anne Frank?"

"No, another autobiography? Those things are so depressing, I don't want to read another one."

"No, no, it's not really like an autobiography at all, either."

"Then… what is it?"

Ms. Kiemal sighs as she looks over the students. The period is almost over, we've wasted the majority of it on petty talking and useless nonsense. "As I'm sure you're all aware, there were many survivors of the Holocaust, each with their own stories to tell. One of the Jewish boys who escaped to America when our soldiers rescued him and the other people in his camp died in 1993, but before he did he wrote a book of his time spent in the concentration camp. It's not the average Holocaust tale, but I don't want to give anything away, so the only thing I can guarantee is that you've never read anything like this before."

"As long as it isn't anything like 'The Star of David,' then I'm okay."

"Yeah, I don't want to cry throughout the entire book."

"Oh, I can assure you, you'll cry. But you'll also laugh, and cherish this book for a long time. The name's have been changed, some scenes edited, added, and cut out, but the story still remains. This book will stay with you for the rest of your lives once you've read it."

"If it's so great, why isn't it as famous as Twilight?"

"Twilight's about vampires, it has no connection to this story at all. Except maybe the romance aspects." At this, many of the girls who are suckers for love perk up. I can tell their interests have been peeked. "But this isn't the kind of book… that people typically read. It's… a little edgier."

"So it isn't interesting at all?"

"No, no, it's very much so. It's just that this book is… often times in certain places, unacceptable literature. I guess you can use that to describe it. What I mean to say is, the… actions and doings in this book conflict with what most countries and people see as _wrong_ and _unholy_ and _abominable_. America is one of the few places where this book is actually allowed to be copied, let alone read." The teacher explains as the atmosphere of the room drops to something forlorn.

"So… if it's that bad, why are we going to read it?" Stan speaks.

"Well, Stanley, this class is made up of entirely seniors. You'll all be adults soon if you aren't already, and I feel that even if this book has quite a few scenes that are… risqué, it's one that will have an impact on you so strong that it will stay with you for the rest of your life. And that's what I'm aiming for as an educator."

Nobody utters a sound more as Ms. Kiemal walks to the back of the room to retrieve a cardboard box with a few bends and holes broken into it to show that it's been used for quite a long time. The slam of the box as it hits a desktop pierces through the silence of the space. From the open top I can see the covers of the rows of books placed within the container. "You'll each get your own copy, just one, so take very good care of it. I'd like you to read the first chapter over the weekend, just to get a feel of what it's about. I'll pass these around, and you can look at them on your own time. But please, don't read ahead. At times this book will be so interesting you'll want to keep reading just so you can see what happens next, but try to keep that urge at bay."

Unbeknownst to us all, a certain student in the classroom possesses a distasteful frown on her lips as she sits in the back, listening to Ms. Kiemal speak. She hates this class, due to her failure on the majority of the tests given out. It isn't her fault the questions are too hard. She hates the teacher even more, however, since she goes about her day as if her life is the greatest. With her ratty brunette hair that looks like shit on her head, her dirty hazel eyes that can't decide if they want to be one color or the other, and her pasty pale skin that glows hideously in the florescent lighting of the school, showing off all of her blue, blue veins. Oh yes, the woman is ugly, the sight of her—no, the sheer mention of her name—gets the girls blood boiling. Sinister ideas formulate within her evil brain and soon, a plan's conjured.

Just as she finishes talking, the bell signaling the end of class rings throughout the school. We gather our stuff, taking a minute to grab a book, and before we leave the classroom the teacher wishes us a good weekend, to which we reply the same to her.

As I walk to my locker to get my stuff for the next class, I take a peak at the assigned book. The front cover has a series of numbers, much like those that are engraved in concentration camp dwellers arms to keep track of who they are, partial to prisons where they wear numbers on the backs of their uniforms. A swastika is placed delicately on the right hand corner of the cover, making my blood temperature rise, symbolizing just what this book has in it. There's also a screenshot of a boy… with the curly red hair that only one in every thousand Jews have, with chocolate eyes and a dust of freckles over his cheekbones. Odd, as I imagine this is the main character, but not too many people were red heads during that time in Germany. The publishers must have photo-shopped the picture, though, because colored pictures weren't popular back then.

The title of the book is _Alpträume Wirklichkeit _by Kai Von Hignam, so the boy on the front might be the author. She did say that this book is based off a true story. An odd name in both aspects, but this is German, and a common name for a man in Europe. I don't know how well I'll like this book, but I'll read some of it tonight to see how it is, see if I'll like it.

_Alpträume Wirklichkeit._

XOXOXO

Extra~

"Excuse me, Ms. Kiemal, where did you get that camera thingy?"

"You mean my epidioscope?"

"Is that what that thing's called?"

"Technically, I suppose you can call them that. The correct name for them is opaque, but you can call it a camera thingy if you want."

"Where'd you get it?"

"My grandfather collected old antiques like this, more so as he got older. When he died, he willed them all to me—his only daughter."

"That was nice of him… so you got a slide of Adolf Hitler?"

"Yes, obviously, I showed it off in class."

"Right, right… but… the opaque projector came out way before his time. So… how did you get a picture of him on a slide?"

"I pulled some strings."

"You mean you really have no idea how to reply because you know something's off here and it was most likely the author's fault?"

"Well… yeah."

"Ah."

XOXOXO

Extra~

"Hey, Ms. Kiemal, wasn't Hitler's father also named Alios?"

"Why, I believe so."

"Please tell me there's no connection between the author and Hitler's dad…"

"Haha, relax, I'm sure there's no connection at all. Remember, Hitler hated Jews, and if they were related, I'm sure this Alios would've been one of the first to die."

"Geez… Hitler was a sick man."

"Indeed."

XOXOXO

Sorry everyone, I'm not completely sane in the brain. If I messed up on some history facts or have grammar mistakes, don't hesitate to correct me. I don't bite haha

Hope you enjoyed the first chapter! I'm looking forward to seeing you again in the next chapter!

Bye bye for now, and please review!


	2. Chapter 2

I'm so excited to write the book scenes, I have no idea. I love this story sooooo much and seriously love writing it!

Here's the next chapter, enjoy!

And a shout out to all the reviews/favorites/alerts I got. Each one made me smile, and I'm so happy to already have so many fans! Thank you so much and sorry the second chapter took so long to get published. But I hope the length makes up for it!

A little side note before you read: I changed Alios's name to Kai and I'll keep the other character's names relatively close so that you'll know who each one represents. There will also be similarities between the original character and the one's I've made up, personality wise and the thing's they do/people they get along with/favorites (colors, food, etc.), but other things will be different, like eye color, how they feel about the Holocaust from the original to my OC's.

I guess I shouldn't say my OC's because they're seriously twins with the originals… but you know what I mean haha

**Alpträume Wirklichkeit**

**Chapter 2**

Prior to the end of the school day Kenny invites me over to his to chill with our other bros, Stan and Eric. I've done it thousands of times before, as I often get asked to go to one or the other two's houses, so I don't hesitate to answer yes, inevitably knowing that no matter where we're at, the four of us will have a kick ass time. That's just how the four of us are, well, sometimes when Eric isn't being a complete dick to Stan, Kenny, and me. We're teenage boys, in our last year of high school, and future men of America!

The halls fill up; people swerve around each other to get to their destination without colliding. It's a case of maneuvering, twisting my body to avoid impact of someone bigger, much less smaller who I might knock over then feel bad for immediately after. My locker may be straight down the corridor from my last period classroom, but it's a workout trying to get there, like I'm climbing a rock wall with no rope to catch me if I fall or crawling through a mile of muck that cakes to my arms and knees, weighing and slowing me down. Okay, so I'm dramatizing it a little, sue me. Getting around this school is a loaded chore.

A color impossible to miss, a color I'm more familiar with than any other, a tall, awkward figure clad in orange supports himself on my locker while he talks to an equally tall, athletic built raven haired boy. My friends, I recognize, but not all of them. "Where's Cartman?" I ask as I approach Kenny and Stan, unable to see any traits resembling his through the crowds of people.

The blond shrugs, widening his crystal blue orbs at me. "Should be coming, but I saw him with his girl earlier so they might be hangin'." Oh, yeah, Eric's girlfriend, Red. Her real name's Rebecca but everyone calls her by her nickname because she's pretty with auburn hair and hazel eyes and a slim build with C cups—almost too pretty for the fatass, or so I think until I bear in mind how much he's changed over the years. Six three, two hundred ten pounds of muscle, and dark, mysterious eyes to top it all off. His teeth are straight, white, perfect after wearing braces for three years in middle school, his hair frosted, much like it was in his metro-sexual days, but only because his girl Red made him for Homecoming. How I can recall all of these facts without him in front of me is of no surprise as I always pay attention to my surroundings, but it's a little strange that he's not here yet.

"Should we wait for him?" I waste no time in opening my red locker to put away my stuff and grab my backpack, which I fill with homework to the maximum amount it can carry before zipping it up and slamming the door closed. A chain reaction of locker door slamming echoes off the walls around us, but we pay no mind, as it's the norm. Mixtures of women's perfume and men's Axe body spray streams into our noses, but once again it's okay. We're used to the headaches it and the noise limits they exceed brings to us.

I can barely hear Kenny's answer over everything else, but still, I retained my ability to translate his mumbling from when we were kids, so I know he's replied in the negative. No, we shouldn't wait for him because he's definitely with Red and won't be joining us after school today.

Damn. Ask me six years ago if I could handle Cartman leaving our group of friends, and I wouldn't care. Not at all. But he's grown on me, like my hair has. It kept growing and eventually the hatred I had for my long hair died a little day by day as I got used to it. Now I'd hate to get it cut, as I'd hate for Eric to ditch me now. The two other boys look a little off, a little down, and I'm sure the guy's feel the same as I do without me having to ask them.

It's like an emotional attachment to a blanket or a stuffed animal, although Eric is far from a harmless plush.

It's an unwritten rule in our Oral Friendship Code that I always take shotgun when Stan's driving, and vice versa, although sometimes, like today, I let Kenny sit up front. I needed more room for my bookbag, anyway. What would've normally taken us twenty minute to walk, we made it to Shakey's in less than five in Stan's car. Shakey's was closed for a number of month in my childhood for rats and cockroaches, but opened back up once the health department marked it acceptable… acceptable as in, clean enough to not catch anything from the food you eat. It's still pretty dirty, in fact, I can't tell the difference from before and after. But that hasn't stopped it from being one of our favorite hang out spots.

"We should come up with some crazy exciting story about how awesome our day went to make Cartman jealous that he isn't here." Kenny jokes as we walk into the restaurant, the bell hanging from the door ringing in our ears. The smell of grease, the sounds of the cable TV, the sight of dirt and food crumbs on the floor, the feel of a mystery sticky substance stuck on the table top, all are familiar. All are a relief, believe it or not.

"You mean lie to him?" I ask, accepting the menu that one of the slutty waitress's, whose name escapes me, passes me. I didn't need to open it, though, to tell her my usual order. Unsweetened tea and the crispiest french fries the cook could fry.

"No," he said after placing his order, too. The customary smirk that belongs solely to Kenny graces his lips, and I falter, almost getting a massive nose bleed. Don't get me wrong, I'm not attracted to him, but damn can he be one sexy beast without even trying. I'm almost jealous. "Just stretching the truth." The sultry, seductive rasp of his voice has me taking back what I thought. I _am_ jealous of his sex appeal.

"Right, right, I'll text him now." Stan pulls out his phone, pulls us all in a hug, and snaps a picture of our goofy faces to send to Cartman with the caption under it saying, _Jealous of how much fun we're having?_ To which we all crack up about.

A reply comes a few minutes later, _Missin' me that much, Stanley?_

_ As if, fatass. _ Our drinks come, our food shortly after, in the large amount of time it take Eric to reply to the raven's text message.

_ Well, you, po' boy and jinger Jew should come up tonight. I'm throwin' a party for Red. You'll get your fill of the day of my sexi as hella body._

"A party?" I ask.

"I guess so," Stan replies.

"Sweet." Kenny drags on, stuffing one of my fries into his mouth.

"Well," I continue, "I'm down." And really, if I'm up for a party, we all are. I'm not the one for social gatherings, but this is different. It isn't until much later that I come to terms with _why _it's important.

A quick text of _OK_ is sent, then we're back to our food. Seemingly inhaling it in an effort to hurry and shovel it all down. Knowing Cartman, he's got booze, and knowing my low tolerance for it, I'll be out like a light after only a couple of drinks and most likely end up crashing at his place, so I need to get home and pack—as do the other two. We're well acquainted with what goes down at Cartman's legendary parties.

When I get home, there's a good hour and a half before I have to leave. I take a few minutes to figure out what to do, opting for homework, but then I remember the book. I can't remember where it's at at first, but then I recall my overstuffed bookbag. The second I unzip it, papers and binders and books spring out like a jack in the box and scatter across my floor. Cursing, I bend over to gather them all up and put them in a stack next to my bed. My assigned book is the last thing I grab before settling on my stomach and examining the book.

The cover is still the same as I remember. Swastika, black and white turned colored portrait, the tattooed number, and the Star of David all delicately placed on the cover, all fitting perfectly.

_Alpträume Wirklichkeit _

_ Told in German by Kai Von Hignam_

_Translated and Recorded by Naomi Pearce_

Always meticulous and precise, I almost dread making the very first crease in this new issue of the paperback. As it is, I have to so that the thicker cover page doesn't flop back over and I lose my place and patience. I'm gentle with the copy, treating it as if it is feeble as a tissue, as I press my thumb over the binding to fold it back. Dusty airstreams with the fragrance of a new book waft into my senses, one of my favorite smells in the world, which may be part of why I visit libraries so often, or it could be that it's one of my favorite smells because of libraries. Either way, I love books.

Green eyes scan analytically over the title page first. Why the manufacturers reprint the title onto a separate page in the book is something I'll never understand. Fortunately, I don't stay on that page for very long until I'm turning it again to a new page.

The next sheet is the dedications, to which I find myself reading over twice just to make sure I didn't miss a thing.

_This story is dedicated to the many souls who've perished and suffered in the Holocaust—may Judith bless the families of the deceased and the survivors—and to those who've chosen to stand against the norm and aren't afraid to be who they are._

_And to my love, who also was not afraid._

It's heartfelt—real and sentimental—like how a dedication should be. Usually authors thank their parents or their siblings, a certain person with a specific name that detaches me from the novelist. Like they expect us to know who their mother is and how she's affected his or her life. When I see a dedication from the author to a certain kind of people, as addressed on this page, it helps me connect to the thoughts and opinions of the writer himself. Of course, he mentions his lover, but also tells us so much about him with just a few words.

By letting you see into the very heart of the author, dedications are always worth the read. Five stars for this one, Kai, five stars.

I carry on to the next page.

_Prologue_

_It's appalling, these unforgettable trials of events in history. Proceedings that will stick with us throughout the ages, even as the people who were a part of them die off. The stories will be carried on, every one of them, for generations to come, and hopefully they will be remembered by the last people on Earth, so that these ignorant actions of humans will not be repeated again. On our planet or anywhere else in the galaxy._

"_A strike conjures animosity, which breeds plans for vengeance, and when revenge is taken, it only makes more hatred form in the people that a single person has wronged. There is no peace in warfare, though I wish there was so that no man nor woman has to feel the pain I've felt, I've lived, I've died with. For I have not taken my revenge, though you would not believe how strong the urge is. Peacetime, salvation, will never come unless people can conquer their emotions and let the strike end with the animosity." -Kai once said this to me as a side note to his tale. A lesson I've learned from his life's story, one that turned me into an active pacifist._

_While you're reading, I hope this story brings you to your own conclusions of life… your own sense of who you are, and teaches you the greatest value in hope._

_A message from the translator._

How very true is Kai's quote. I feel the same, though I'm not against war. Even now, years passed WWII, I feel nothing _but_ anger at the Nazi's and the neo-Nazi's that still exist now.

Naomi must've been closer to Kai than I originally perceived. My mind must be in the gutter today after spending so much time with Kenny, so I shrug away my suspicions and turn the page once more. 'Heh, Kenny…' I think.

Now, it's time for the real story.

_Chapter 1_

_Sunlight, brighter than a thousand flames that illumed from the village's nighttime candles, casted its golden morning rays through the slight breaks in the clustered forests that our village dwelled within. The heat it produced threatened to evaporate the droplets that had formed overtop the surface of all that slumbered under the moonlit night. Tears of dew glistened on the luscious greens and rooftops they encompass when the light spread its rage wider as the day progressed. Time passed and I couldn't hide my face in the comforters any further to get away from the brightness I was subconsciously willing away._

_Birds' melodies vibrated irately in my ears, piercing. Normally, the gentle chirping would have russle me awake in the kindest of ways and I'd welcome the sound into my room, but as it was I hardly caught a wink of sleep that night. Something—a mysterious force—compelled me to lie awake in bed long after the red sun had set and the stars became covered in ghostly clouds. In truth, I believe I didn't even really sleep, instead only drifted once or twice, but would jolt back awake a minute later. Which explains why, then, the noise maked my head ache in pain._

_The soft plushness of the material I laid upon beckoned me never to move again, and I very nearly listen, but the responsibility of my morning chores weighed on my shivering shoulders and called to me greater than the pleasant warmth of my bed. Relishing in one more moment of complete comfort, I summoned all of my will to persuade my body into action. Goosebumps (A/N: Did you know that this term comes from the slang word "Goosie," which was a nicer word for—ahem—ladies of the night, and "bumps" that represented the red, itchy welts a gal would get from different diseases in the 1800s?) formed along my skin as it was exposed to the elements. Out of habit I opened the one window I have in my bedroom and forgot to shut it again after bathing, hence the morning chill._

_After stretching my muscles, popping my joints, and bending my bones, I was finally able to produce some energy when a flash of red slams through my wooden door. Red that one such as I can never forget, even though she is long dead. My mother had the most vibrant crimson hair our village had ever seen, in any kind of light it shines pink and orange, a rebellious flame in the center of darkness. When it was wetted by her evening bath, blood literally cascaded down her back. It was a rarity and incredibly astonishing to me that I received the same curly hair as her, only mine a variation of her color as it was a little more coppery orange than scarlet._

_I had obtained a good many of my features from my mother. My chestnut hair, my chocolate eyes, high cheekbones, and pale freckled skin all came from her. I've got a few reasonable qualities from my dad, however, and one's I'd rather not have, like my lanky physique, bony hands, and the gap between my two front teeth. My parents always told me that each attribute gave me character, and I wish now that I paid more mind to my well-being because having a gap was much more bearable than having no teeth at all._

"_Get up or you'll be late to school, Kai-koff." Even since I was a wee lad, my mother had always said that prefix with my name, sort of like a cute nickname for her "cute little boy." Inside I dreaded it, the embarrassment I felt when she referred to me as such facing company would make my entire upper body heat up, my skin taking a pinkish shade which was very noticeable considering how white my skin was, and I'd curse the day I was born with such a mother. On the exterior I'd smile at the name, welcome it, all so she'd not become upset._

_I lived to impress my mother, my father. They were my life, the reason I did the things I did. They taught me right from wrong, fed me well, kept the house warm for me. Up until I turned nine, they were my mentors, my teachers, since I was homeschooled. They may have been strict, they may not have understood me the way I wished they did, but I would've done anything for them. I loved them._

_I got a new neighbor when I was eight, but his parents sent him to public school. In order to be closer to him, to make my first ever friend, I no longer wanted home-tutored. It took a lot of convincing, they were too overprotective, but they eventually came around and I was able to be with my friend always._

_He was there that morning, waiting on my front steps just like he does every morning, even when there was no school. After I got ready, brushing my teeth, washing my face, and changing my clothes had only taken a couple of minutes, I rushed down the stairs. There were few Jewish families now who have the dignity to keep their poster of Hitler off their walls, mine was no different. As I took one cautious step down after another, I stared at him, him back at me as if he'd come to life at any second, jump right out of two-dimensional space and condemn me for my religion, hate me, take me away and kill me for believing in Judas. There were only twelve steps to the second floor, but it might as well have been twelve hundred with how slow I walked down them._

_I eventually reached the front door, tossing on my polished school shoes and windbreaker, all the while fearing what today will bring. Seeing our leader's face first thing in the morning always gave me the creeps. I grab one last thing before deciding not to dwell on it any longer, I open the entry way and am greeted with the caring brown eyes of my best friend._

"_Guten morgen, Kai." He pulled me in for a hug, as he always did, which I accepted and returned. We released each other and I gave him the biggest, brightest smile I could muster at the time._

_I forced on my worn out hat, my favorite possession, over my curls. Sometimes I wonder if it was because I've had it since a tike, or if it, in some way, was actually a metaphorical barrier to hide my Jewish heritage. "Sven! Hallo, how are you this morning?"_

"_Freezing. I woke up in bed with frost in my hair." Even with our jacket's it was rather chilly out, shivers racked our bodies with each passing breeze. In our houses as well, it was cold. Not for lack of fire wood or coal, but for one law that was annually reinforced by the one person assigned to our neighborhood to ensure there was no light in any of the houses, so that overhead aircrafts that flew only at night could not see our village. (A/N: The name of these people escapes me right now, but they DO have a name. I'll refer to them as peace keepers if they're brought up again, until I can look it up.)_

"_Damn peace keepers… If it weren't for them we could be cozy in our family rooms with a burning fire, roasting nuts and not waking up with stiff bones and frosted hair." We shared a laugh, warming our hearts just a bit._

_We started walking in silence down the dirt and gravel road, eventually hitting pavement, until one of us broke it. "Yeah, that reminds me…"_

_The tone of his voice, so forlorn and detached that I dreaded asking him what was on his mind. Looking back now, I shouldn't have. I should've just ignored him and continued on with our walk to school and let him forget about what he was saying, but I didn't. "…What is it?" I asked, not knowing the full consequences such a loaded question would bring me._

"_Well… _They _visited my neighbor this passed night." It was almost an instant reaction, my awareness of what he spoke of. There's only one thing, one organization, he could be referring to and that was never a good thing. Even uttering their name seemed to be taboo at the time. How could it not? If there was one thing we Jews feared more than Hitler, it was the ranks of men he controlled, one group in particular. The Gestapo._

"_Did they…" Did the Gestapo take her away. That's what I wanted to ask, but couldn't articulate, my voice shrinking as my terror grew._

_There was a moment of suffocating quiet before he finally announced, "No, they didn't take her away. I believe they were there to scope out her living conditions." Right away, I know my dear friend is referring to something almost unrelated to cleanliness. The Gestapo were there at Ms. Riengers house to make sure her personal photo of Adolf Hitler was hung up in her family room, make sure it's seen by those living in the adobe to worship. To worship._

_To this day I don't know what possessed me to ask such a question, but I kept my eyes downcast as I said, "Please tell me _you_ don't worship his portrait."_

_I can't recall now the reason I asked such a laden question, all I can say is the answer made me madder than I should've been. I knew by Hitler's law that my friendship with Sven was forbidden, blasphemy in the eyes of our dictator, and I knew that Sven cared not of my Jewish heritage at the time. "…My parents are a different story…"_

_Where my eyes had shifted to his brown ones to make sure I understood his answer, they once again casted downward to the path we walked upon, watching as our tattered shoes appeared and disappeared from my vision. Amid the hate for what our government had turned into, sadness plagued my heart for my friend, who seemed to be drifting farther and farther away from me without my permission. I didn't want him to leave my side. If it wasn't for the times we were in, he never would've._

"_Kai…"_

"_No, don't say it."_

"_Kai…"_

"_Sven, keep your filthy mouth shut. I don't care what they say! You aren't seriously going to do any of it, are you?"_

_All sound got swept away by the chilled October breeze as we stopped dead in our tracks. The moment of stillness a much needed part in that conversation. "Are you?" I broke it first. "I thought we were friends, Sven. __Don't you remember… when we were children? Hoffnung, hoffnung aus alpträume wirklichkeit."_

"_Kai, please, we were stupid kids. That saying means nothing now because you know I have to obey so that nobody gets suspicious. You know my parents won't hesitate to turn me in if I didn't… and if they knew I'm still your friend. But you know in your heart as well that I never mean it when I praise him or when I speak flattery onto him." My real anger stemmed from the knowledge that Sven's and my relationship would never be accepted by our neighbor's, our friends (if I had any left at the time), our family, nor our country. My real anger formed because of ignorance that directly affected me and my people, ignorance that depicted us as savages unfit for life itself. Our "crime against humanity" for existing, in our leader's eyes, was punishable only by death._

_When I turned my emerald eyes to his blue I realized I could see into his soul, as if his deepest thoughts were projected out in front of me. A twinkle from the sunlight sparked my instincts to get closer to him, take a closer look, and in that moment I knew without him having to ever say it aloud that he loved me. He loved me for the best friend I was to him, the brother he never had. For that love, that unyielding devotion to me even as our people discriminate against each other (yes, we are all still one people, whether Jewish or Roma or Bolsheviks or colored or blonde or short or missing a leg, we are all still human), I will be forever grateful._

"_Yeah," As overwhelmed with the happiest foreboding as I was at the time, as my emotions pulled in opposite directions, I was surprised I could even manage to utter a single syllable as I did. "Yeah, I know."_

Reluctantly, I pull myself from the story. How well only the first couple of pages have pulled me in, my attention never wavering from the text even as an itch formed on the bawl of my foot or when a knock came from my door—presumably from my little brother as an announcement for dinner, but I didn't pay an ounce of attention to him. I shift my eyes to the alarm clock setting on my nightstand. The hands indicated an hour before the party starts, which may or may not give me enough time to get ready. I weigh the odds and decide that I'll get ready first, and if there's enough time after then I'll read a few more pages.

Hesitantly, second guessing my choice not to continue, I finally close the book and reach over to lay it next to my blinking red timepiece and bounce off my mattress. A quick sniff of my pits tells me I'm do for a hot shower, so I make my way towards the bathroom, flicking off my light switch as I walk through the door.

The novel's left alone in the ominous darkness.

**XOXOXO**

***Extras***

I may be wrong, my opinions a little off… but I believe that everyone should know how horrible the Holocaust was so that what happened then will never be repeated. Does anyone else think that way? The reason I ask is because I want to tell you all about something… something that'll make you realize just how terrible it really was.

I'm about to tell you something that will bring the Nazi's even further towards the ultimate low, if they weren't there already.

Some of you might already know this, and if you do then that means you're more desensitized to it than the people who don't.

This thing is so inapt it's almost ludicrous, but the depth of the meaning behind it is so traumatizing… I almost don't want to say it for fear of my own mentality. But you all _deserve_ to know just how cruel people can be.

Ready? Here it is…

There is a board game, made by the Nazi's.

Why is this so horrible?

Well for one it's made by a group known for it's hatred against anything non-Aryan and possibly is one of the BIGGEST racial discriminating groups Ever, but you are this little wooden Nazi-Germany citizen player and the object of the game is to break into Jewish stores…

Hold your breath…

To win the game, you have to break into the stores and kill six Jews—who are represented by little hats with the stereotypical "Jew face" painted on them (black curly hair, crooked noses) that the wooden Nazi places on his head after each kill. First one with six hats wins.

Just the thought of a family playing this game… of parent's letting their kids play this game… make's me sick to my stomach.

Now, not to support Anti-Semitism, but if you want to look up more about this game, it's called Juden Raus, which literally translates to Jews, Out! AND THEY ACTUALLY HAVE AN UPDATED VERSION! How disturbing… It's a recreation of the board game Monopoly, only it takes the Jewish player piece around ruins, concentration camps, gas chambers, and a picture of Adolf Hitler. The famous Monopoly man is replaced with a skeleton dressed in a Nazi uniform, and I believe that it was made in the 90's as a fundraiser for neo-Nazi projects.

Here is a link to information about this game: www . theworld 2011/12/ nazi-board-game-out-with-the-jews/ (Remove spaces)

Another thing… If you thought that was gruesome… there's also a children's book called the Poison Mushroom.

I don't want to get too much into detail about that because… well, let's just say that there's a picture in it of the Jews slaughtering a cow… IN A CHILDREN'S BOOK! But if you're interested in it just send me a PM. I won't judge you just because you want to know about it, I mean, curious and naïve me wanted to read it, too. Until I actually did read it and then wanted to tear the thing to pieces… or poke at my brain until I erased my memory. So if you ask, I'll definitely tell you about it, otherwise I don't want to completely destroy someone's innocent mind.

**XOXOXO**

Anyway, I hope I didn't scar anyone too bad, but I think everyone has the right to know exactly what the Holocaust was, and frankly, everybody NEEDS to know so it's never, ever repeated. But I already said that, so THANK YOU FOR READING! I'm soooo happy I finally posted the second chapter!

And please review! I love getting feedback. It's half the joy of writing.

If you want to review but don't know what to say, try asking yourself questions like "What was my favorite part? What was my least favorite part? Do I like the way Yuruki portrayed the characters? Do I want to see more of a certain character?" Just things like that.

Until next time… Auf Wiedersehen!

Yuruki


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you all for your lovely reviews/alerts/favorites. I have wonderful readers and I just wanted to reply to a few messages that I couldn't because they weren't signed in.

But before I do! Just so I don't confuse any more people, the book that Kyle and his whole class are reading, isn't a real book. I'm making it up as I go along… so it's like two stories in one. Just in case any of you were unsure. I hope that doesn't confuse anyone in the long run.

Chocolate mask: Oh my gosh, thanks for your review. It IS seriously hard for me to write Kyle and Eric's persona… especially together! At times it's really fun, like when they fight and I can make them say just about anything and it makes sense because it's KYLE and CARTMAN, but then the love-y scenes that are coming up are seriously difficult because I keep wanting to make Cartman just bust out laughing in the middle of a serious scene. Or something stupid like that because being serious just isn't his _thing._ Lol Sure, he's sadistic and whiny, but he's cute about it and I love him.

Guest: Thank you for your review! If you want a good book to read about the Holocaust that isn't at all hard to follow along with, try _Walls Resisting the Third Reich—One Woman's Story _by Hiltgunt Zassenhaus. It's got about 250 pages and it's read at about a highschool level. It's about one Christian girl's life doing all she can to help the Jews. I enjoyed it when I read it, but everyone's different I guess. It's a serious story, but some scene's had me cracking up. There was one part in the beginning where she was a school girl (as it was her early years) and she always got yelled at by the teacher because she wouldn't "Heil, Hitler" to the Nazi flag in her classroom. Sorta like how we had to pledge to the American Flag in school, only more enforced. Anyway, one day the teacher gets fed up and calls in the principal (or someone of higher rank, but I don't know for sure) and right away the girl knows she has to "Heil, Hitler" or she'll get kicked out of school and reported to the Nazi's. When she does it, she raises her arm so hard out of surprise and spite, she hits the window she was standing by. The glass shatters, embeds its broken shards into her arm, and no one ever yells at her for not saluting to the flag ever again. That's karma for you, and it just had me lmao. Hope I didn't spoil it too much… eheh.

Anyway, it's the day after MY BIRTHDAY! I had a wonderful time yesterday and I wanna give a shout out to my friends who celebrated with me and who are reading this! YOU ROCK!

**Alpträume Wirklichkeit**

**Chapter 3**

_"Friendship."_

"Who in here actually read the first chapter of this book as I assigned it?"

Although I would love to raise my hand, lying goes against my moral values. I didn't have the time over the weekend between the massive hangover that lasted two days and the work my mother had me do for her to finish reading the first chapter, though I would've done anything to pick it back up. I would be far more embarrassed than I am for not doing my work, except that as I look around the room I discover that I'm not the only one. Craig, Kenny, and Bebe haven't read it either. Hell, they probably haven't even started on it. But do I really want to be categorized with those three, and did I really expect anything different from those troublemakers? They all do, however, seem surprised with me. "Sorry, Ms. Kiemal."

Sincerity in my apology earns me an excused nod from the teacher. "It's fine this time, Kyle. I know you're a good student, just don't pick up their," she pauses to look pointedly at the three miscreants, "bad habits.

"As for you three, you do this every time there's homework! One more time and you'll all be sent to the principal's office, and I mean it this time!"'

There isn't one of us that doesn't doubt her, because we know she doesn't actually mean what she says. She threatens them nearly everyday with office's, detention's, and ISS, but they're all empty and there's never any real danger for the delinquents. Ms. Kiemal is too nice for her own good and sometime's I wish she'd turn into the wicked witch of the west for merely a moment to teach them a lesson, even if they are my friends. Refusing to do your homework will get you nowhere in life, but perhaps I have no right today to be saying this.

Our curly haired teacher turns her attention to the front chalkboard, picks up a piece of broken white chalk, and brings it up to the green surface. She seems to come to a decision about what to write before gently placing the chalk back in a 'never-mind' sort of fashion. "Okay, class, here's another metaphorical bellringer. There's a word here, 'friendship.' For those of you who did read, you'll notice that the key word in the first chapter is this. The question we'll be discussing together—so you don't have to write this all down—is what friendship means to you personally, and how it affects Kai in the story.

"So, any taker's to start?" Her hands clasp together while she surveys the room. Once again, silence lingers throughout the room, no body willing to step up.

With friendship on my mind, my eyes travel to my super best friend in the seat next to my own. Friendship… means a lot to me. I'm pretty sure it means a lot to every human on earth. It's how we function, how we're happy and content and able to go on with living. It's a need we all have—the need for socializing—and if it's not fulfilled we feel empty and uncared for. It's as awful as losing your closest friend. I can't imagine the pain I'd feel if something were to separate Stan and I.

Eye's of self-conscious teenager's wonder around the room, sometime's trying to avoid the teacher's gaze and other time's trying to make contact with certain student's to try and influence them into answering. Otherwise, Ms. Kiemal will selectively choose someone to answer the question, whether they want to or not. A few anguishing long seconds later, not a single hand raises up into the dense atmosphere. Then, suddenly, to the entire class's flabbergasted confusion, it isn't any of the usual people who answer the emotionally invasive question. The deep baritone voice of the person—the man—who speaks has me whipping my head around to stare into dark hazel eyes that focus ahead of me and into our teacher's.

My stare, and equally shocked open jaw, stays in place as he speaks. "Friendship—real friendship—is about brotherhood. A pact to stay loyal to each other and respect one another through all doubts. That's what I think…"

A… brotherhood?

"So, if you look at it through my perspective, Hitler's follower's were really his true friends. Sven and Kai are just a couple of homo's with gay ass feelings for each other that they have to keep pent up 'cause faggot's were persecuted back then. One of the type's that Hitler despised. What they need to do is have a gay falling out, confess their feelings and cry in each other's pansy arms together, then go fool around behind the school building where no one can see them, then maybe they'd act like god damn men instead of weak, weeping fairies."

Ms. Kiemal is speechless. While Eric's insight on things has endorsed my opinion that he's a retarded fuckwad with neo-Nazi tendencies and a low tolerance for homosexuality. Though, I guess I can't judge people on what they believe to be right, otherwise I'd be no different from Hitler and Cartman, so I choose to relay my own thoughts on the subject, even if I didn't finish chapter one of _Alpträume Wirklichkeit_.

"Friendship isn't some warped version of a pro-white cult, Eric." Surprisingly, it isn't my voice that reins through the room, but a certain blonde pervert's. "Friendship is putting your complete trust in someone and knowing that they won't betray your feelings. Won't tell your secrets… and won't fuck you over. That's a real friend.

"Kai puts all of his trust in Sven by allowing him to see every aspect of Kai's inner conscious! I mean, the guys a Jew for god sake, and Sven's a Christian with Nazi Party supporting parents. It's got to take a lot of trust for Kai to spill all his secret's to a potential Hitler idolizer." There's a heated passion in his blue eyes, like a hyperbole of water that's caught fire, that speaks of knowledge beyond his years, like he's been in this situation before. It's time's like these where I inquire just how much I really know about the life of my blonde friend.

Now that I think about it, didn't he keep his hand down when the teacher asked who read the story? How would he know anything about Kai and Sven if he never picked up the book? Did he just pretend to be lazy? Why would he do that? A quick mental reminder to ask him about it subjugates in the back of my memory.

"While that might be true to an extent, I have my own views on the subject." Before I even process what Ken had to say, Stan steps up to voice his opinion, too. "To me, friendship is about loving someone unconditionally, despite their faults and flaws. Sticking with them 'til the end of time and knowing that they'd do anything for you, as you'd do for them, just for the reason that they need you and you, them. That might sound a little weird, but I care a lot for my friends and I'd do anything to protect them, and I think Sven is right in his attitude toward Kai."

For the most part, I agree with the things my three friends say, but I hold true to my own point of view—that friendship is necessary to live healthily. After Kenny and Stan's heart warming introduction into their hearts, I don't think speaking my outlook on this matter will earn me any brownie points, so I opt for keeping my mouth shut firmly and sliding down into my seat. They're great speakers, I realize, great debaters. They'd kill if they went out for mayor of Southpark, especially considering all of the lazy, misguided adults around here.

Ms. Kiemal appears to come out of her daze, and finally finds the air to breathe her response. "All good answers." Her pools of chocolate orbs lock on to Cartman's for a brief instant before turning back to the rest of the class and continuing her speech. "But there's more to discuss."

"The author doesn't give specific dates, whether that's due to carelessness, no real want to include them, or simply that Kai didn't give them, it's all up for scrutiny. Still, there's no way for us to tell the exact time frame we're dealing with, but we do know for sure that it's a couple years passed Hitler's inauguration. What lead's us to believe that?"

Wendy Testaburger, Stan's long-term girlfriend, raises her hand. Our teacher, of course, wastes no time in calling on her, and her snippy girl voice reverberates off the walls. "Kai's parent's have a poster of Hitler in their living room to keep up with the facade."

Token Black immediately follows after her in an unnecessarily excited demeanor, "it's not only that, though, Ms. K. Kai's afraid of the storm troopers, the Gestapo. He wouldn't have even heard of them since they weren't formed until Hitler was rising to power. Plus, there's a soldier…"

"Good, good, you two got it. The poster was the one thing that should've popped out to all of you, but only some of you would've nit-picked at Kai's terror. I love it, you guys are learning!" She has a strange self-satisfied smile on her pale face, leaving me clueless and in awe. You have to look close, but she's really a gorgeous woman… for a teacher.

"So, prediction time. What do you think will happen next?" She sways her hips as she walks around her desk, low heels slapping against the linoleum, and takes a seat in her comfortable recliner. "It doesn't matter what they are, any idea is a great one. Based on the context clues, make an _educated_ guess—please—on what you think will happen next.

"Better yet, I want you all to write it down on a sheet of paper. Hand it into me when you're done, then I'd like to show you something."

So that's what we set about doing—reluctantly pulling a sheet or two out of our binders that lay under our desks, pulling pencils from our pants' pockets, and writing a short story on what we expect to happen in the story. I temporarily wonder if I should be doing this at all since I didn't read all of the chapter, but I dismiss that when I see even Kenny scribbling something short and sweet (probably perverted) onto his piece of paper.

Hesitantly, I bring my number two lead pencil, decorated in teeth gnawing marks, down to my unwrinkled sheet of white lined paper. I title it with my name and 'What Will Happen in Chapter Two,' though it's not technically correct because I have no idea what'll happen.

'_I've only gotten half way through the first chapter, but I have a feeling that no matter what happens, against all odds, Kai and Sven will never be separated. Ever. They'll fight to stay together and nothing the racist Nazi fuckers can do will prevent that.'_

Since I don't have a genuine opinion of the story thus far, just accepting that it's well-written and that our teacher seems to adore it, I don't have a lot to say. But I, at least, say something. I hand it in to her after a few other students, one of them the sly fox Kenny who sports a wicked grin on his face that screams mischief and devilish trickery. Yeah, I conclude, he's been lead astray.

A few minute's later, everyone's turned in their papers and Ms. Kiemal is again standing with her back to us and to the chalkboard.

_Corruption._

_ Treachery._

_ Suffering._

_ Humility._

_ Love._

_ Endurance (aka: survival of the fittest)._

_ Heartbreak._

_ Friendship._

_ Loss._

_ Disease._

_ Sanctuary._

_ War._

_ Mental instability._

_ Murder._

_ Domination._

The last word she writes is…_ Hope._ The chalk makes a clank sound as it connects to the metal tray beneath the board. Individually, the words would have no meaning to me, but because they appear to be grouped together in an array of symbols, I can almost guarantee they're all topics that'll come up in the book we're reading. I ask the question out loud in anticipation that I'll be right. "Are those… genre's that'll show up in our reading, teach?"

She smiles knowingly at me under her glasses. "Indeed, Kyle. There's a variety on the board, and many more unnamed that you'll come to discover on your own. This is just to give you an idea on what's to come. I hope you all take great care in reading this story. It's not to be taken lightly. Serious themes embrace it and it's not for the faint of heart, please understand. This is only the beginning. It will get worse."

"How much worse, Ms. Kiemal?"

"Imagine the most gruesome picture or video you've seen involving the Holocaust and the experiments they did on people… turn it into emotional chaos, and multiply it by at least three times and you've got the misery the author went through during his years spent in the camps."

"…If he suffered through so much, you'd think he'd turn crazy or commit suicide or go on a serial killing rampage, not peacefully live out his life until he died of old age."

"Well, you've yet to know the story nor anything about him, so let's finish the book before you make any rash judgments on his character."

The bell rings and I'm tempted to run to the bathroom, skip at least part of my next class, and finish reading the rest of this book. Forget just chapter one and two. But I don't, and I wait until I'm home under the warm wooly covers of my silky futon bed with a cup of warm tea and cracker's that I'm pretty sure have been expired for a month. I don't care, however, and focus all of my attention on the written words on the yellowing pages of this wonderful book.

"_Kai, please, we were stupid kids. That saying means nothing now because you know I have to obey so that nobody gets suspicious. You know my parents won't hesitate to turn me in if I didn't… and if they knew I'm still your friend. But you know in your heart as well that I never mean it when I praise him or when I speak flattery onto him." My real anger stemmed from the knowledge that Sven's and my relationship would never be accepted by our neighbor's, our friends (if I had any left at the time), our family, nor our country. My real anger formed because of ignorance that directly affected me and my people, ignorance that depicted us as savages unfit for life itself. Our "crime against humanity" for existing, in our leader's eyes, was punishable only by death._

_When I turned my emerald eyes to his blue I realized I could see into his soul, as if his deepest thoughts were projected out in front of me. A twinkle from the sunlight sparked my instincts to get closer to him, take a closer look, and in that moment I knew without him having to ever say it aloud that he loved me. He loved me for the best friend I was to him, the brother he never had. For that love, that unyielding devotion to me even as our people discriminate against each other (yes, we are all still one people, whether Jewish or Roma or Bolsheviks or colored or blonde or short or missing a leg, we are all still human), I will be forever grateful._

"_Yeah," As overwhelmed with the happiest foreboding as I was at the time, as my emotions pulled in opposite directions, I was surprised I could even manage to utter a single syllable as I did. "Yeah, I know."_

_Together we arrived at school at the same time as always, which was around eight fifteen in the morning, give or take. Sven never really cared much for punctuality, but I made it my responsibility to keep him on task so we always made it inside the classroom before the bell signaling the beginning of the day would ring. Ironically for the time, Sven and I, a Christian and a Jew, had the same homeroom. In the cities there were separate buildings for Jews so that the pureness stayed pure and the corrupt stayed away, and sometimes Jews weren't even allowed to study at all, period, and would have to be tutored under secrecy of night and privacy of home. That had yet to happen in the remote places such as my village, but I knew that sooner or later it would happen and Sven would be forced to leave me behind in his studies._

_When things such as that were brought up in conversation between the two of us, he'd pledge promises of sneaking next door to teach me the criteria they covered in school that day, but though I was deeply flattered, I could not let him risk his own safety for my education. I reassured him by saying that if that were to ever happen and I could no longer go to school with him, that I'd use all of my free time in the day to read—to keep up my knowledge base._

_My dark haired friend walked into the room before me, but when he should've continued on passed the doorway and to his seat—as it seemed as normal a day as any—he stopped dead._

_I didn't realize he had stopped until I had stopped, and when my curiosity as to why was peaked, I stood on my toes and glanced around his shoulder to get a better look at Sven's face. Almost as unnerving as his stillness, a bead of sweat had rolled down his defined jaw from his brow line. I pointedly wondered if the thing that made him so frightened was really worth it, but immediately my concern for my long time best friend overshadowed all others and I placed my own clammy hand on his clothed shoulder._

"_Was, Sven? Bist du okay?" __German rolled off my tongue in a flurry._

_In that moment something clicked in him and he turned his attention back to me. His eyes were a frenzy of dilating pupils and shifting irises as he spoke two words I'd never forget. "Don't panic," he said. "Whatever you do, don't panic."_

_At first I was confused, what did he mean? Of course, Sven's been known to overreact to many things, especially when it came to the girls he liked, and I figured that whatever was happening I would take it ten times better. Just as I was about to question him, he moved out of my way and ushered me in after him. I barely caught a glimpse of something unfamiliar in the classroom before Sven had taken hold of my hand and redirected my attention back to him._

"_I mean it," his voice but a whisper as his warm, warm hand as gentle as the morning breeze squeezed mine in reassurance._

_Looking into eyes as blue and as unpredictable as the ocean I've only seen in pictures, I joked. "Am I ever going to see what all the fuss is about?"_

_But those eyes didn't upturn in laughter. Instead they narrowed almost in agitation for my humor in a time when seriousness was required. With that I gulped down any further comedy, taking in the solemn situation for what it was. "Okay," I nodded finally, to which he responded by letting me go._

_The bell rang to cover my loud inhale of oxygen when I saw what I was in store for._

_For in the very room I'd never thought one of them would be, right in front, scrutinizing us, looking upon us with sinister intent that I was sure should only be reserved for a person who has done a terrible crime, was a soldier. With his eyes a piercing darkness as black and evil as the things he's most likely done to my kind, he glanced around the room settling them on every human who was forced to wear their religion on their sleeve._

_A German Nazi soldier._

That was the end of chapter one.

I have to say that as tired as I am, the book caught my attention so well that I'm tempted to continue on and keep it a secret from Ms. Kiemal. As it is, I can also act surprised should the need arise and pretend as though I didn't already know that was going to happen.

Heaven above knows I want to.

But for now, I'll stay true to my morals and, well, be truthful.

I slide the book into my book bag, which incidentally is leaning against the side of my bed frame, for school tomorrow. The light switch is just a reach to the right, then I'm settling into bed to be well rested and prepared for the next day.

**XOXOXO**

Extras~

Another thing, just so I'm clear: Yes, the Holocaust was a terrible event in world history, and yes, it started in Germany with Hitler's rise to power, but the Holocaust didn't just happen in Germany. It happened in a lot of countries as Hitler conquered them, including France and Poland. And yes, it may have been orchestrated by a German man, but there have been so many other genocides in so many other places around the world. We just don't talk about them because most of them are our allies. Germany, at the time of WWII, wasn't our ally, and that's why there's so much attention drawn onto the Holocaust.

Take Joseph Stalin as an example, he was the ruler of Russia during WWII and rose to power about the same time that Hitler did. Stalin and Hitler didn't like each other, but they had a non-aggression pact signed between them saying that neither one could harm the other. Well, Hitler completely demolished that pact, but before he did, Stalin killed and dislocated more Russians in his rein than Hitler murdered throughout his.

Now, if you were able to follow along to that, what I'm essentially getting at is that events like the Holocaust happen all the damn time, sometimes without meaning to. But it isn't the countries fault.

Maybe, in some indirect way, it is a little bit. You may argue that the people elected their leader or that if the country was some sort of hierarchy that they could've assassinated him, but really, nobody knew that Hitler was crazy until it was too late to kick him out of office. Nobody knew he was gunna mass exterminate everyone he deemed unworthy. If they did, if they could look into the future, I'm sure somebody would've done something, but let's face it, not everybody is a psychic. And keep in mind, once people knew that Hitler wasn't the person they thought he was, he had already placed the fear in people's heart's that he was… godlike. That he could kill them all with just a flick of his wrist. By the time any big organized group of people thought of rising against him, it was the French Resistance that only formed AFTER he conquered France.

Again, what I'm trying to say is that it isn't Germany's fault that the Holocaust happened. It isn't Russia's fault that Stalin turned into a mass murderer. Germany believes that it's their fault, yes, they are taught in school that it was, so that nobody will ever turn out like Hitler. But they're also self-conscious that we hate them for it, but I don't. I can't speak for anyone else, but I don't think it was Germany's fault at all, and really, who would? It was a mistake. A mistake that killed millions, but hey, we've all done it. Not that I'm justifying any actions that kill people, but war _is_ in our blood, I suppose.

Anyway, this is rather long and I just wanted to tell you that you shouldn't hate Germany because of the Holocaust, as it wasn't their fault. But I guess I carried it on too long.

**XOXOXO**

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, even though I had so much to say…

FORGIVE ANY AND ALL MISTAKES! I tried to get this out fast after actually starting it. You've waited long enough, and I applaud you!

But thank you for reading and thank you for reviewing. Hopefully this chapter, though long waited, has lived up to your expectations!

I hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving, for those of you who celebrated! The Christmas time holidays are right around the corner, who's pumped!?

ME!

Yuruki


	4. Chapter 4

Hey, all! So glad to have such wonderful feedback! This chapter will be getting more into the plot, and actually seeming like it's going somewhere. Haha

Little more Style (or should I say Ken) in this chapter than normal. But their pairing is a little too… platonic pour moi. I need something edgier :) so the Kyman will start in the next couple chapters. Yes, this story will be a long one. Hope you like it!

Also, a hint of K2, but not very much.

**Alpträume Wirklichkeit**

**Chapter 4**

_Alpträume Wirklichkeit_

_ Chapter Two_

_A Nazi soldier… in our school._

_A million, trillion thoughts raced through my mind a mile a minute, from questions as to why they're here to unabashed outrage that they were. We'd done nothing wrong! Hell, my parent's practically worshipped the Fuhrer's portrait that hung in the living room out of fear of being discovered and henceforth persecuted. Nothing… we'd done absolutely nothing to draw attention to ourselves in this bucolic village that's mostly overrun by Hitler follower's and 'pure German citizen's.' So why are they here? For the very few Jews that actually live here? There aren't many._

_Bulging eyes, as I was in the highest level of disbelief, travel around the room to discover he's the only soldier here amongst the other Nazi's, but they quickly dart back to him. With a back perfectly postured, burly hands clasped behind it, an upturned nose, and menacing sneer, this guy was everything a leader should be in one distinct look. Confident, cruel, cautious. His calculating coal irises, evaluating the scene as if everything he saw were below him, were a mirror of that._

_Up to that point, never in my life had I been so afraid of one man. Even when my solid Jewish father laid into me for incorrectly multiplying a calculus equation or fumbling over notes on my precious violin, I did not fear him. I took his mistreatment of me and turned it into motivation—motivation to continue on through even the toughest of challenges. I'd study all night to ace my mathematics tests, control my fingers just a fraction more to play a single note better, speak to a synagogue's worth of people without stuttering any syllable, ride my cousin's horse with unfaltering balance. I took every tease of provocation, every remark of incompetence that ever directed itself my way, and turned it into determination to prevail! What then, was so different about this one man that had me so terrified that I shook in my boots where I stood? _

_It was the indisputable knowledge of the passionate hatred him and all the people like him had for the Jews. One look at my yellow star, the mandatory symbol that deterred even the closest non-Jewish friends we had, and all of that electrifying anger would be directed towards me and me alone. There were no other Jews in my grade, and only a few in my entire school, which equaled out to me being the only Jew in the classroom, with only one friend who couldn't really be my friend in public._

_I believe I took Sven's hand once again and held onto it as tight as mine, shaking with tremors and slick with sweat, allowed me to. With my childhood friend beside me, I would overcome my fears. Sure enough, I had no doubts as I lost all mind in the depths of his oceanic orbs._

_Another fear I had, one of misguided judgment, made me release him incase anyone in the room saw us and assumed things that shouldn't have been assumed. But the warmth lingered on my soaked, frozen skin and that familiar cozy feeling lead me to my seat with ease._

_I kept my head level, refusing to bow to that distorted, unworthy authority, but still I feared, so my eyes never met his. Instead, they'd find an interesting hole to inspect or dust to trace as it floated about the room. It was boring, but it kept that soldier from any reason to gun me down._

_The kids were nasty, wanting to please the reign they followed. People who would talk to me in the halls or who I would occasionally help with homework, turned their back to me. They ignored or whispered about me the falsehood of my humanity. Someone, a bully who's name escapes me now, even threw a paper wad at my head. I unglobbed it, thinking it was a harmless letter, but the words written were of the highest offense. In big, bold German lettering was the equivalent of the noun 'KIKE,' thrown in my face and demoralized. If the Nazi teenager's were horrid, I couldn't imagine the grown men._

_I had had it with the hateful words, the uncaring looks… I couldn't take it from the people I thought wouldn't do that. Outrage shown on my face, as it did in my stance as I jumped up to throw my fury in the face of the boy who indirectly called me a kike. My mouth opened wide to yell, a threat diligently formed on the tip of my tongue, but a hand stopped me._

_My heart skipped, my breathing wavered, my skin paled. Fear struck my heart a second time in that room. If that was the hand of the man I thought it was, then my life was over. I turned, and I was never so much relieved to see my friend as I was in that instant. Sven used his strength to rotate me around to fully face him and he said, "calm, Kai. Stay calm." Somehow his words did calm me, which was strange because my anger usually took hours, days even, to leave. My racing heart and perspiration slowed, and eventually went back to normal as I sat back down again._

_For the first time, I looked to the man who stood still, in the place I had last seen him, against the wall by the teachers desk, seemingly unmoved by the recent fall of events. Unless I stared into his black steadfast eyes that stared back at me. There was a fire in them, an evil spark that ignited the fury of defiance in me. My brows narrowed in a glare, my fear no longer holding me back. A smirk quirked his cheeks, to which I was clueless._

_It was the teacher that finally stopped our stare-off when she said, "settle, class. I'd like to introduce somebody of great importance to you. Someone to look up to, someone to inspire you. His name is General Gessmein. He's the head Commander of the Camp at Auschwitz. He's here to educate you on exactly what it is that they do at the camps. I think you'll enjoy this kids, especially you, mister Von Hignam."_

_Whether that was a threat or just a general offending statement made aloud to the neighborhood Jew, I didn't want to dwell on it and chose to ignore it for the sake of controlling my anger. I swiped my gaze down the silhouette of the General, which was rather large for a man back then. We didn't have preservatives and steroids in our food or much of it back then so the average weight of a man was about a hundred and thirty pounds, give or take. But this man was a good thirty to forty pounds heavier than normal, and about fifty to sixty pounds heavier than me. And all that weight through his Nazi uniform appeared to be solid. He towered over our rotund (for the time) teacher by a head and a half, leather clad heeled feet seemed only to add the most minimal height. It was… rather intimidating._

"_If you would, General Gessmein."_

"_Thank you, Miss."_

_His deep voice echoed through my head, bouncing off every wall inside that it hit and reverberating back again and again. If there was one thing about him that wouldn't strike terror into me, I hadn't found it yet._

"_Guten morgen, you fine German student's… and the other's." Although he said something I knew was directed at me, he never looked my way throughout the entire speech._

_Student's snickered and sneered and outright laughed and gasped at the lies he told. The lies that said they didn't kill the Jews at the Death Camps, that the worst they had us do was work and that we lived in luxury with comfortable beds and delicious gourmet food. I had never been to or seen any type of camp, but I knew, I just knew deep in my soul that the words he spewed from his wicked mouth were untrue._

"_I've come today to spread the knowledge of our kind-hearted German ruler's, even if some of our faithful follower's wish certain doom on the one's who've done us wrong…"_

_Bite your tongue, Kai…_

_Bite your tongue._

"…_But I'll be returning to lead my camp from ruin to salvation. We may not be able to cure their corrupt soul's and disgusting diseases, but we can stop them before they plague any more."_

_Why is he speaking such harsh words to a room full of children?_

_Why must I be subjugated to the debasement of my people?_

"_We will be triumphant!"_

_The people roared, cheered for this one man who spoke debauchery towards the Jews. All I wanted to do was rip him a new one and run away as far as I could from this place that didn't even want me alive, let alone lingering among them. They hated me, wanted me dead… They wanted me gone, gone, gone._

_Damn them!_

_I'm a person, too!_

_I'm a person… I have feeling's… so stop._

_Please, stop._

"_I've lied to you all, I'm afraid."_

_I barely listened to him over the drumming of my own loathing thoughts that raced through my head._

"_I'm not just here to educate you, but I'll be around. If you have… any information regarding… treachery, tell my men. They'll report it to me. Thank you."_

_With that, he was out the door, and the class was left in chaos. There were murmurs of potential meanings to his words, of secret's that there's been an uprising in our peaceful town for the Jews and against them, all of which I knew not if they held any truth. All I knew was that now, more than ever, I had something to really fear._

_It was the evening after that school day, after Sven had walked me home, in the clouded twilight. Snow was falling gently from the sky, but that day could not have been more harsh. A vast contradiction to my inner struggles that I wasn't sure I could ever forget. Things were brewing in the bottomless pot of the vague future—bad things._

_I had witnessed first hand the ignorance of the new Nazi-Germany people._

_As I entered my home I was still enraged, but less so than I was. Being with Sven had helped my mental stability. Right away, however, I was bombarded by my parents to start on my homework and music practices. I should've finally stood up for myself against them and said, "with the way things are going to hell, I'm not going to be in school much longer, anyway!" But I have a feeling they would've forced me to continue my studies behind closed doors nevertheless, and I would've gone along with it either way because brains were all I had._

_Against my father's utmost wishes, I only did part of my homework before I grabbed my violin from the closet. I had to unleash my pent up emotions somehow, so what better way than through music? I noticed on my way to the living room window, that it was a quarter 'til four. In an hour we'd start dinner preparations, which my mother would have me help with, so I only had about an hour of practice time to compose myself completely._

_The old wooden chair next to the giant, four sectioned window was frost bitten with condensation, but still I sat there, as I did everyday to play my violin. In that one corner of the room, my breath would become visible and my skin would cover itself in goosebumps, yet I still sat there to practice. The cold was quiet, peaceful… It spoke so much to me without saying a word, like it was my inspiration to strive harder—knowing that there was something more bitter in the world than the individual's of that time._

_I loved the feeling of the violin pressing into my neck—sometime's I'd press it so hard, my skin would turn black and blue from the bruising pressure. When I was emotionally drained from everything, it helped me to feel again, and it helped that my father took it as a sign that I practiced harder._

_I thought of the strings beneath my fingertips as delicate, but I knew they were wound tightly with so much force, that if a string would break, the snap back would be so powerful that it could be fatal. I was addicted to the idea of the things I loved turning against me because that's what everyone I thought had cared had done. Everyone I trusted, even members of my own family, had turned against me. It was hard to accept as a young man, it's hard to accept now. The calluses they left behind would eventually wear away if I stopped playing, but I would never quit something that means so much to me. I'd never quit playing the violin._

_A few people who walked by the window, as it overlooked a street, would stop, listen to the muffled classical music for a while, before continuing on with their day. Less today than normal, because of the coming German's. No one wants to be seen listening to a Jew's music._

_Minute's tick by, and an older couple dwell's outside for longer than normal, just listening. I turn my attention to them to give a brief smile before concentrating again. They were holding hands… an odd thing to remember, but I remember nonetheless. They looked happy, peaceful while they listened to me. A sliver of pride withered into my chest and I played just a little louder._

_A woman and her child had eventually joined them, then a couple more after them. It was odd, and I was more than a little freaked out. Never had I had a complete audience, never had I played for such a big group (it was only about six or seven people, but it was still a lot up to then). It was… the most incredible feeling, the admiration I felt rolling off of these people through the window, my only barrier between them—the outside world. I stood from my post on the chair for them, so that they could see me, so that I could give them what they wanted, all the while playing my violin flawlessly._

_When the song had ended, I did a dramatized bow, flipping my hand around in various twirls and bending so low they could probably see my back from below. I was so excited, it was a spark of hope in this hopeless reality. The smile on my face couldn't have been bigger. That is, until I came back up from that low, low bow and met the eyes of the Nazi General Gessmein._

_He was standing in the middle of the street behind the rest of the group, aloof and gauging. Ungloved thumbs hung out of his pockets, likely trying to keep warm, the black trench coat that all soldier's wore only do so much in the cold. He must've been freezing, yet he's standing outside watching me. Well, good. He had no right to stand in front of my house! Well… it is his country… Anyway, I just wanted him gone. His presence made me increasingly uncomfortable, and my fury was still there, boiling under the surface and at any moment the pressure gage could explode and all of those emotions would burst out of me like a bomb, but I had to tell myself something, anything, to look away from him. So I reassured myself that there's a three inch thick wall and a glass window in between us. The least I could do would be to quit acting like a sissy._

_I shook my head of the negativity and replaced my violin. I rose my arm to start the melody, but a flash of familiar black and brown flew by my vision at such a fast pace that I wasn't sure if it was Sven or not. But when the front door slammed in the other room, I knew right away that something was wrong. Sven never rushed into my house, hell, for a couple months he hadn't stepped foot inside my home at all thanks to his paranoid parents._

_I had no time to even set down my instrument before he was upon me, grasping my arms in an almost painful, desperate grip. His eyes a mixture of puffy redness and wet tears, cheeks flushed pink from the cold or from the exertion, I'll never know. His breath came out of wheezes as he tried to explain what was going on, but I figured that he'd never calm down long enough to ever get out what he was saying._

_What is going on?_

_Why is Sven like this?_

"_Shh, shh, Sven." I pulled him in for a heartfelt embrace, tucking his head into my neck, violin long forgotten on the floor. "It's okay, I'm here."_

_He grasped onto the back of my shirt in a death grip, and I remember the collar of the shirt choking me, but I held firm and waited until he sobs ceased ever so slightly. I was nervous, so very nervous of what was to come. If Sven reacted like that… then how would I react after he told me?_

_I gulped, very loudly, and sucked in a deep breath. "Sven, please, tell me what's wrong."_

_Sweet breath, shaking as he tried to catch it, blew over my face when he pulled back a fraction of an inch from me. The look in his eyes spoke volumes, the trepidation he held and the uncertainty that consumed him. When he spoke his next sentences, my heart almost stopped in its tracks. It was happening… it was finally happening. The impending future I so much dreaded was coming into play and there was nothing I could've done to stop it. Of course, it didn't help when the distance between us closed and everyone in the neighborhood saw us liplocking through my living room window._

_His lips were wet, but I was more focused on the amount of strength he put into holding our bodies so close together. I had never been kissed before… my best friend had stolen my first kiss. I wasn't sure how I should feel about this… it wasn't as great as I thought it would be. But the actual kiss didn't have to be good, because the effect it had after words held so much more of an impression. If it wasn't for his words I would've slapped him across the face, but the devastation they held made me fall back into my chair, weak from disbelief._

"_My parent's think this town's going to hell. We're leaving for Italy in the morning."_

So much for my educated guess on what'll happen in the plot, although there is still time to get back on track. Hopefully, Kai and Sven will run away together and get away from the Nazi's before it's too late.

Wait, Sven _kissed_ Kai. What was he thinking? Kai is his best friend, why would Sven ruin that?! I mean, I know it was a troubling situation and he probably wasn't thinking, but have some sense! Kai's a dude, and there's no way he's gay!

Swallowing the anticipation that had built to the very end, I look up from the book to Ike in the doorway. He says he's been standing there knocking for the past five minutes not even bothering to come snatch me away from my obsessive reading. A throbbing vein ticks from my temple at the annoying enigma that is my little brother. "What do you want, dweeb?" I nearly growl in frustrating dissatisfaction.

Ike 'hmph's,' fully intending to turn away from me and make a dramatic exit, to which I wouldn't have a single complaint. But before he does, he answer's, "your idiot friends are downstairs. I was gunna lock 'em out, but they forced their way passed me."

"My friends?"

"Mhm, fatass and perv." With that, I saw the back of the hair that adorned the Canadian's crown as he disappeared around the corner.

Puzzled, I sat still for but a moment to regain my train of thought before bolting down the stairs to wherever they were. They never said a thing about stopping by. When I reach the living room, they're standing in the entranceway looking as lost as puppies in the rain. Wide eyed and shakey.

"Hey, what are you two doing here?" I make my presence known by greeting them.

"Aw," Kenny pouts, throwing his arm around the contours of my slouched shoulders. "You don't want me, Ky?"

Both scarlet eyebrows raise at Ken's audacity, not so much in surprise, but in suspicion. There's a hint of sarcasm in my words as I speak. "No—yes—I mean… never mind. It's great to see you."

Something's missing from this picture, but what?

Snaking his hand along my shoulder blade, he grabs the back of my neck and gives it a squeeze with massaging pressure. I almost sigh it feels so good, but when his hand travels down my spine a little too far, I step forward to avoid him. That vein once again throbs at my temple. Rotating my upper body, I make to point and shout at him to keep his hands to himself, but a stinging sensation startles me from my rant and all further words are swept from my mouth.

"Did you—did you just—"

I watch as, slyly, Ken tucks his hand back into the white and orange pocket of his parka with upturned eyes and a coy smile. A single nod from that idiot sets me off and I yell, "pervert! How many times are you going to do that in one day?! I'm going to take a bat to your ass and see how you like—"

In that moment, as I'm flailing my arms at the blonde ready to strike, something clicks inside me. My enraged demeanor morphs back to normal. "Isn't Stan with you?"

"That faggot went out with his girlfriend and ditched us." In my confusion and outrage, I forgot that Cartman was even here. But there he was, in all his daunting glory. Hazel eyes cast in a familiar glare that seems to challenge my very existence. If we went friends since before Eric's strange obsession with Hitler came about, I wonder if we'd be friends now after he's declared himself (jokingly) to be a full-blooded Aryan neo-Nazi.

That should go both ways, shouldn't it. I was still a Jew long before the two of us met in pre-K, and I'm still one now. So the logical answer would be that we'd despise one another, all friendship lost in the past. For some reason, I've yet to fathom, this isn't the case. In fact, to put it bluntly, I like the fatass—not necessarily his anti-Semitism side.

I sigh for a second time in just under five minutes. Having relationships with people will make that happen. "He has a girlfriend, Cartman."

Ken decides to add his two-bits by throwing in, "coverup!" As if that was funny. So what if Cartman is bent over holding his stomach in pain from laughing too hard, or wiping his eyes from the tears as he comes back up to catch his breath. It isn't _that_ funny.

A subject change is well overdo, so I pipe up, "have you guys read the second chapter yet?"

I get different answers from both of them, but I have a feeling that since Kenny already lied about never reading the book in the first place, that he actually did and probably even continued on to the next chapter—which was what I should've done.

"Speaking of the book… Po' boy, who does that one gay boy remind you of?" I'm about to protest Sven being homosexual, because he is _not._ It was just the confusion and the paranoia and the hopelessness that chose his course of action. I'll defend Sven's honor to the very end because there's no way he's gay!

But Kenny, with his indifference, beats me to the punch. "You mean… Sven?" The blue eyed devil in disguise goes to make his way up the stairs, presumably on his way to my bedroom.

The stout football player lazily follows behind him, up the flight of steps as quickly as his legs will let him (which is rather fast considering), and disappearing around the corner of the first door on the right. "Mhm."

"Why, I don't know, Eric-poo, is it our very own gay boy Stanley Marsh?" I follow close to Eric's heels, fully intent on proving them wrong with cold hard facts pulled straight from the literature, but I pause when I realize that there is no hard evidence that I know of. Not until I read further on.

"Indeed. Can you believe Ms. Kiemal's making us read a homo porno book like that?" Strong hands of my German friend reach for my blue X-box controller that's laying on the floor where I left it weeks ago after a weekends worth of straight hours with my eyes glued to the damn television screen, thumbs restlessly drumming the abused, glowing buttons. By the end of that weekend my eyes were so blood shot and my sugar levels so low, I decided to avoid even looking in its general direction for fear it may call to me. So far, I've avoided temptation, but with my best friends over, I think that'll be inevitable.

Kenny wastes no time in plopping his trailer park butt down on my cozy bed, cutely snuggling up with the comforters and maneuvering himself to be able to reach the other X-box controller. "I wonder if Stan's got the hot's for you in real life as much as he does in the book."

I don't miss the glimmer of something atrocious in Eric's eye, or his tensed up figure as he harshly gripped the controller. Nor did the sound of his grinding teeth slip passed my ears. I have no idea what's up with him, but I move to sit beside him in silent comfort. There isn't any room for another control, but sitting there just watching doesn't bother me. Nor does having two extra people try to all sleep in one bed.

Heh, and they call Stan a fag.

If I had paid attention to Kenny when Cartman was having his fit, I would've realized the change in his manner as well. His eyes turned ominous, like he had a weird premonition. His eyes rolled back into his head as he closed his eyes tight to control a temper that he dared never show to anyone except his drunken father. His hands traced through his hair in his own comfort and his head bowed low in thought. He was all over the place, yet in a single spot. There was something that would've seemed strange about him, had I looked. I would've questioned him, but I could'nt.

But I didn't look at him, as I was much more concerned for Eric's irritability.

Not that Kenny would've told me what was wrong, anyway.

Still, that night I went to sleep in between my two best friends, and for a while, everything seemed okay, seemed peaceful. I'd want to stay there forever, if there was a certain blackette that should've been there, but was with his girlfriend instead.

Little did I know that nothing was as it seemed for me at all, and that in the coming months, I'd break down harder than I ever have and ever will again.

**XOXOXO**

Extras~

To clear some misconceptions up for anyone who was wondering, Kyle and Kai (and the rest of the Southpark crew and their counterparts) will have slight physical attribute differences. It doesn't really matter, but I did that to have at least some variances in the characters, and to essentially help me to distinguish between them. Unfortunately, that isn't really how it went and I ended up confusing them with each other.

For instance: Kyle has green eyes, Kai has brown.

I can't tell you how many times I've mixed those two colors up, so if you see a mistake somewhere, it's the author's stupid fault.

**XOXOXO**

OH, they're figuring it out! What's Kyle going to do now? O.o

So, I've decided to tell you all early that General Gessmein IS based off a character in Southpark, so any guesses who? I'm not going to tell you if you're right, but it'll be a big surprise to everyone when the secret's out!

I'm taking the present-time Kyle romance reaaallly slow, because when the book they're reading ends, that's not the ending for Kyle and Cartman. At all. I plan on making this story very long and very heartfelt. It's a bunch of jokes and play now because I wanted to take some tension off of the horrors of the Holocaust.

Anyway, toodaloo! Hope you liked it!


	5. Chapter 5

You may look at this chapter as part of the actually story, but you don't necessarily have to. It stands stable on its own haha!

I'm kind of late, but I hope everyone had a great New Year! I had pork and saurcrout! And since I know I won't post before Valentine's day, chocolate and love to everyone! Here's a treat, for the people who read my hardwork haha (I'm a lil late for Xmas)

Warnings: Lemony smut sexi sex comin' riiiiiight up for yall fangals out dere. Grab a box 'a tissues incase 'a massive, spontaneous nosebleeds and maybe even tears. This country girl knows she's gunna have a rough time typin' it without the necessary equipment. A lil gorey, but if you're reading Kyman, I'm sure you can handle it. If not, this story is by no means mild or for kiddies, so you might not want to keep reading.

If you do read this, be prepared. Adult themes!

THIS IS UNEDITED! Any mistakes or sentences that don't make sense… are sadly all mine. Just ignore them.

Enjoy!

**Alpträume Wirklichkeit**

**Chapter 5**

**New Year Special!**

Non-compliant hands of mine take a minute to reach up to my throbbing temple, only to quickly withdraw the freezing appendages from my skin in shock. My whole body is ice on fire, literally burning from the frostbite that encompasses my entire character. I hadn't taken notice of it above the damage of my memory and the pounding in my head, but now that I'm aware, the pain and the queerness of my aching body is confusing.

_Something doesn't feel right with this picture._

There's no recollection of how I got here, only that this is where I am and hopefully won't be for long. Trying to remember is as painful as taking a wicked blow to the head with how much excruciating pressure ricochet's through my skull. The heaviness of my eyelids cannot even distract me from my twinge, although I'd give anything to be able to go back to sleep—if that's what I was doing previously.

_Yeah, definitely not right._

Stretching, I look around for a means to warm my frozen (seemingly) cadaver, expecting the very comfortable bed in my room or a spot next to the heating vents that I could hover over, but I see nothing of the sort. Instead, I'm in a strange, spooky environment I can't recall ever being in before and if I wasn't freaked out prior to this, I am now.

All around me is old cobblestoned cement bricks, colored grey, with bars on one side and an enveloping dreary feel of imprisonment all around.

_No, it isn't just a feeling._

The unsympathetic temperatures of the cell that allow my breath to visualize and the fine, red hairs I endow to stand on end, comes from a barred window opposite the locked cell door. Beneath my cold, bare feet, I feel the same stone covered in something that I'm not expecting. Something that I'm sure comes from the exposed outside elements—ice. Ice that covers at least a third of the unit around the window.

Water, that in the spring would drip endlessly, halts in its descent mid-air, frozen solid as a stalagmite; ice a sparkling, beautifully hanging threat. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I think that if I weren't in such a bizarre situation, I'd take a picture of the figure, maybe make a crystal replica of it as a paperweight. That's my brain gearing off track and trying to convince myself the situation isn't anything to worry about it. Which, it isn't. I hope.

Pulling the thin, tattered clothing closer to my body to trap in the heat, I wrap my arms around my torso and head for the door, thinking that there's no way I'm staying here to freeze to death. On my way to there I notice another piece of cloth, small, folded over, and seemingly useless, so I leave it there and continue. I push and I pull at the bars of the cell door, but they don't budge, not even a fraction of an inch. Frantic, I use more strength that only results in me hurting myself, but I need to get out. I have to. As a last result, I try to squeeze my skinny body through the bars, even going as far as to suck in my stomach to the point of pain. The frozen metal only gives me burn marks and rips off pieces of my epidermal.

My now reddened skin stings with failure, but I maintain my control—albeit barely. Keeping a calm head is essential right now.

I'm trapped in a prison cell…

It's cold as hell and I can't feel my toes…

The clothes I have on do nothing to keep me warm and there's no way of raising my temperature in this place.

Okay, think Kyle… You're mother's drilled survival skills in your head since you were little. Don't talk to strangers, even if they say they'll give you a puppy. Don't climb high trees if you're scared of how high you are. Don't eat thing's you find on the ground. Don't go into the wood's unless you want poison ivy. Those are thing's I learned when I was a child, but the woods… If you get lost, retrace your steps. If you get hungry, look for berries, likewise look for water if you're thirsty, but don't forget where the path is. If you get scared and don't know what to do, stay where you are and wait for help to arrive. It's possible that you're parents or friends are already on the hunt for you.

Stay where you are… wait for help… That seems like the only thing I _can_ do right now.

Reluctantly, I slide onto the floor farthest away from the icy windowpane and sharp ice cycles. Knees bend to my chest, arms wrapping around them for heat and security. I place my aching head atop my knobs, curling into myself. There's nothing I can do for my feet, but I can at least keep myself alive for a while like this. I just pray I'm out of here soon and the cold has no long-term effects on me.

All the while, I'm lost inside my own mind wondering what I've done to deserve this, why I'm in this torturous place, how the hell I even got here, and why I can't remember a damn thing. Nothing is making sense, not in the slightest, but I'm forced to wait it out—for now. If the situation gets too severe, to the point where I'm frozen to the floor, then I'll take more extreme measures. For now, I'll just wait.

_Wait, Ky… Just be patent._

_ Where have I heard those words before?_

Some time passes before I'm jolted from my thoughts.

There's a noise from beside me as an inch thick steel door swings open and in walks a figure straight from my nightmares, albeit someone I know. Black, steel-toed army boots stomp heavily against the ground as he steps into the room, the door closing with a slam in his wake. Brown jeans tucked into said boots accentuate a waist that since middle school has lost quite a bit of weight. There's a dark maroon jacket with endless compartments and zippers unzipped, covering a black band T-shirt that screams impeccable doom to whoever sees it. Oh yes, I know right away who's walked through the portal into my personal hell, and I'm not too sure I want him to be here.

"Cartman?" Indeed, it is my friend since pre-k, standing on the other side of the obstruction, staring into me with sinister, black intent and a particular gleam of superiority that disquiets me. Yet not for long as I regain my sense of purpose. "What are you doing here?" I articulate from my spot on the floor.

He trudges his feet up to the only thing resting between us—keeping me safe from his intimidating stature. "I'm the bailiff of this place, and Kyle, you've been a very naughty boy."

"Huh? What are you talking about?" He isn't dressed as a cop, not even close. I stand and rush to the cell door, grabbing onto the bars with certain desperation to flee this disturbing place and never look back. "Whatever. Just hurry up and get me the hell out of here. I'm freezing my ass off." It's the truth, evident in my goose bump covered skin, shivering form, and much to my embarrassment, perked nipples that the jail uniform doesn't help to cover.

Cartman leans into the bars, but doesn't touch them, hands grasping them a little higher than mine. "No can do, Jew." He breathes into my face, a musky male smell of cologne assaulting my senses.

I refuse to back down and ignore the enticing scent. "Eric, open the damn door."

I receive a frown in response, but both of our glares stay in tact. Before it turns into a stare off, however, he whispers with a finality that has me instantly obeying. "…Get back." Without saying a single word, I do as he says, ripping me hands from the metal and forcing my numb feet to hold my weight as I back track.

No sooner than the door is closed and locked once more, I am slammed up against the bars of the cell, one digging into my shoulder, the other my left cheekbone. The nip of the metal against bare skin rends a hiss from me. My arms get restrained behind my back even as I struggle against the asshole, otherwise I'd push away from the damn barrier that's fenced me in this chamber with my friend turned enemy. A knee that does not belong to me slides easily between mine that amongst the fight I don't notice. That is, until Cartman leans into me, crushing me to the poles, to talk into my ear. His words are spiteful and strike fear into me all the same.

"I've got you now, Kahl, and there's no escape."

Scared, but unwilling to back down, I raise my voice. "Damn, Fatass, you're going to break my ribs. Get off!" I use what little leverage I still have after practically falling against the metallic surface to push away from it, but a toned chest prevents me from going anywhere. I try again and again, punching, kicking, biting, but he's not budging and I'm wearing myself out. My blood temperature rises, but not enough to stop the infernal tremors.

Burly hands—something clicks in the back of my mind—move up to grasp my shaking ones that seize the poles. The warmth of his body overcomes me and suddenly I don't want him to move. At least, as long as he stays in this position and doesn't get any funny ideas. I shake in place, soaking up every ounce of heat he exempts, eventually pushing into him a mere fraction of an inch further. Although shivers still rock my frame, I have to wonder why he's as still as I'm trying to be.

A mouth finds its way to my ear again, flicking a tongue against the outer shell, causing me to jump and bang my face off the object in front of me. The lips follow me all the way, never once parting from my flushed skin. "You've been bad, Jew, spreading your beliefs to the people of South Park who don't want you preaching to them. You're like a damn Jehovah's Witness."(1) Slowly, he guides my hands together, taking them into one of his. Shame on me, I don't think of breaking from the hold. Manipulating, he does it so slowly that I don't think I have to—like there's no real danger in his movements. The other hand leaves my sight, quickly forgotten.

"Not even Stan wants to hear that shit, and he's your best friend, right?"

Suspense builds and I don't answer, he already knows that Stan is my _best_ friend, and always will be. I'm not expecting a hand to slap against my ass, let alone so hard that I'm forced forward again, hip bone digging into the bar. "Ah-! What the hell, Eric?!"

Another slap echoes around the room, "Answer the question."

If I go against my natural born stubbornness at all for one reason, it's that the twinge of the spank is unbearable against my still-frozen hide. "You know he is, so what's the point of asking?!" Sassing isn't going to get me any brownie points, I know, but if my body isn't going to do anything to defy him, then my mouth sure as hell is.

A step forward has me, once again, squashed up against the barrier. "The point," something cold and hard clicks around my wrists, sealing my fate. "Is that he isn't here to save you anymore. No one is. Now, it's my turn." From the breaths between us, condensation forms.

The burden of the inevitable weighs down on me with devastation, and if it weren't for the hold my tormenter has on me, I'd fall straight to my knees. Fear strikes a new cord in me as I'm unable to pull my hands free of the cuffs, although struggle as I do. My breathing comes out in pants of extreme anxiety, all the blood drains from my face, and the coldness returns, piercing through even the close proximity of Cartman.

Those large hands wrap around my chest, fingering my ribs through the fabric. "Don't touch me." I try to shake him off, but he's having none of that.

"Listen, Jew, I'm only going to say this once. Struggling will get you nowhere unless you're into punishment. Don't push me, or I'll crack, you got it? Do as I say and you might just walk away from this unharmed." Fury in me came to a boiling point and steam rolled from my ears and nose—metaphorically, that's how pissed I am. Needless to say, that rekindled my raging fire inside and now, I'm not backing down.

"Cartman, you fat piece of shit! If you're horny, go screw your stuffed animals! Keep your creepy fucking perverted hands off me or I swear to God himself I'll kick your ass! What'll the guys say when they figure this shit out, huh? What would your mother—"

Suddenly, I'm flipped around so I'm facing my personal demon. A punch to my face would've sent me hurdling, but the handcuffs prevented that. I can feel a throbbing bruise starting to form on my jaw and blood trickles down my chin, but for the most part I ignore it so I can hear the dark words he utters. "No one is here to save you, Kyle. Don't give yourself false hope." That's the point where the severity of the circumstances I'm in finally settles in, and I realize that something is going to happen to me that I won't want to happen. The worst part, though, is knowing that it's all in Eric's hands and I have no voice in the matter. That I can't stop this from happening.

_Don't give yourself false hope…_

_ Fine, I won't._

The smell of him consumes me again, a fresh citrusy musk that reminds me of apples and something distinctly _masculine_ that I can't quite place. If this is going to happen, if someone I thought was my friend is going to… defile me like this, then I won't let it damage me and I'll focus on anything and everything except what he's doing. I won't let him win. I never have. I can't stop this, but I don't have to be here to endure it.

"Stay with me, Kyle. Only I can decide when you die." Hands of my former friends' work their way body my body, stopping at my hips to pull me up, wrapping my legs around his waist. Fingers clench my ass cheeks possessively, kneading and rubbing them raw. Time slows as he dives in towards my mouth, time in which I think of what I should do. I have choices. Give in and let him do as he pleases so that I don't get hurt, and let him hold that over me for the rest of my life, or fight for my innocence and hopefully get a punch in or two even if I don't get away. Well, it's not in my Jersey blood to just give up. "I am your Executioner."

He licks the trail of my blood into his mouth.

_Maybe he's right._

_ Maybe that's why I'm so terrified._

_ Maybe I've always known that this is how it'll be—me constantly brawling with Cartman until one day, today, he finally wins, completely._

Lips meet mine in a fierce battle of dominance. Mine urged by hate, his by something else that I'm unsure of. Teeth draw blood, saliva drips from our mouths, and greedy tongues swallow it all up. The hands holding me grind me up into his hard abs, but I don't moan, not do I harden even the tiniest bit—it's too cold and I'm too stubborn for that. Nothing distracts me from the war at front, not even when one of his appendages works at unbuttoning my prisoner's shirt, one little, broken button at a time.

The shirt stays on, a mercy from my _Executioner_, courtesy of the cold. Unbuttoned, the skin that's bare is eyed up by Cartman as he rolls the buds he finds with his rough, calloused hands. His hot mouth covers the other one, flicking and sucking. It's nice, like a massage, but my unstressed sigh of appreciation turns to a bitter hiss when he trails his kisses to my throat and the burn of the stale air reaches the saliva on my nipples. A galling burn tells me this is real.

A moist orifice clamps down on my collarbone, drawing even more blood and a groan from me. This eggs him on, making him suck and bite just a bit harder. There's a noise that erupts from deep inside my throat, a grumbling concept that's completely new when his teeth take hold of a certain spot behind my ear—to which he chuckles. In retaliation, I bite his cheek hard enough to bring his face back from my neck and ever so close to my mouth, which he devours again, causing crimson damage.

He leaves my chest to undo his belt, noisily unbuckling it with a distinct direction in mind, all the while kissing me violently. The metal of the belt clanks as it hits against the icy, stone ground. Foreboding what's to come.

In no time, his hips are on mine, both of us clothed, but vaguely so.

_He's warm, so warm._

He's on me again, touching. Every inch he's able to reach on the upper half of my body, he does. He's delaying, I don't have to analyze his brain to figure that out. We have different views, I want this to go as quickly as possible. I break away from the kiss as soon as the opportunity arises, "Cartman," I gasp breathlessly. "Do it."

He smirks, sneaking his hand under my trousers to cup my ass, rubbing it hard enough to bruise. "Eager, Jew?"

"Hardly," I mumble through grind incisors. "Just get it over with."

After what seems like an eternity from the get-go, a thrust upwards is finally given and his smirk widens. "I won't." He pushes on my ass, compressing my parts against his in a very uncomfortable (for me) way. His thrusts are firm and long, lasting forever but getting us nowhere. He's still drawing out the time, but for the life of me I can't figure out why.

_Just end it already…_

As soon as the thought forms, he's setting me on the ground none-too-gently. He's still touching me, rubbing the dampness on my chest and incidentally licking my cheek. It's gross, almost has me gagging, but I keep it in and redirect his tongue to my mouth. When he sucks on a fresh wound a little too hard, I groan. "Your pants."

"Huh?" I question, trying to focus on the kiss.

"They're in my way." I stop. Green eyes widen, my heart skips a beat, a mantra of 'this isn't happening, it can't be' enters my head in a kaleidoscope of one thought in many versions. "Do you want me to order you around, Kike? Treat you like the unlawful trash you are? I'm authority, Kahl, there's no mistaking that."

"Cavity search?" There's no laughter following my nervous joke, as we both know why I say it. I don't really mean it. Any other circumstances and I might think it's funny, but the truth right now is that this _is_ no laughing matter and we both know it. With one last look at Cartman before the humiliation becomes too unbearable, I plea to him with my scrunched brows and frightened demeanor, but he doesn't crack. He never does. My gaze directs itself to the floor, too ashamed to watch his reaction as my striped pants hit the ground, forgotten.

He engulfs my flaccid cock, once again plunging his wet appendage in my mouth. I'm not too worried at first, nothing he'd done so far has proved successful in getting me aroused. When his thumb flicks over the slit at my head, all of that changes and I jerk in his hand, breaking out of the kiss to gasp in surprise. The minutes that tick by as he hands my junk are pure mental torture, my body betrays me as it gets hotter and harder. It's all I can do to fight.

I bite his lip clean through, blood pours down his chin, but he seems undeterred.

Slowly, I'm lowered to the floor, to my knees, the handcuffs sliding down the bars easily, and he follows soon after. He unlocks the cuffs from the bars, but leave them on me. I don't understand. It's not as if I'm going anywhere. His fingers hook onto the striped black and white pants, and I'm pleading with him not to do this. "You asked for this," is al lI get in return, before my pants fall around my knees and my head is shoved in Eric's tenting crotch. One of his hands go to my head, the other slides down my back and to my ass.

"Eric…"

Before I can get another word in edge wise, a plump, dry finger is forced inside of me, effectively cutting off any and all protests I may have had. Uncaringly, I settle my head down into my _Executioner's_ lap, scrunching up my face and curling in on myself to stop the discomfort. "Arch your back, Jew, and suck my cock. Put on a good show and maybe I'll be gentle."

I do what he says, God I listen to every word. It's horrible and I feel like the lowest human being on the planet, but by the time everything goes to hell, my survival instincts kick in and obeying seems the only way to get out of this unscathed.

I suck his dick, like he's been dreaming about since we were children, lick his balls and even use my hands. I'm not good at it, as I've never in my life have had a sexual encounter, but he seems pleased all the while. It's the most sickening thing I've ever tasted, and when his head touches the back of my throat each time I nearly barf. Despite that, I wriggle my hips, trying to get him to move more carefully inside of me, but that just earns me a harsher finger fuck and a sorer asshole. I coat his fatass dick nice and slick, so that when the real thing comes, it doesn't hurt as much. His fingers do a painful job stretching, but hopefully it's the worst of that.

Too bad that when the main event happens, it's just as excruciating as everything else he's ever done to me. I cry, I scream, I fight until I'm about to black out, but that only managed to urge him on ever more. His thrusts are sharp, invasive, and tear everything in their path. I've never seen so much blood in my life. I've never been injured this bad, but he keeps going, and just like him, I do too. But into a realm where all of this agony can't ever find me.

My voice cracks and turns coarse from my endless pleading and high-pitched squeals, while my head falls in the floor in defeat finally. I hate to admit it, but I've given up. This one little act of complete domination has broken me for now, and I can't keep up with this torture. I've never had a girlfriend, not even a real first kiss. I was terrified after I figured out the reason he advanced on me in the beginning, and I'm terrified now. Only, I've come to realize that it still isn't him I'm afraid of, but his sex organ. It sounds strange, is strange, I know. But getting raped can do that to a person.

With a final thrust, that _thing_ explodes inside of my raw entrance and a weight collapses onto me. I lower myself to the ground, flat, and eventually I'm left naked in the cell by myself to freeze to death. Just goes to show how caring rapists actually are. Breath I've held since the explosion bursts out of my lungs, a definite sigh of relief.

_It's over…_

It's really over. Is it safe to say that?

I strain to catch my breath, still coming in visible fog. I don't want to pronounce a single syllable incase it eggs him on to continue, not that I can in my breathless state. I don't think I can handle any more of what, whatever it was, just happened. Because what did happen? Regretfully… terribly regretful, I gave in to him, albeit unconsciously. Yet I know unconscious wishes are _true_ wishes and even if I could go back, it would turn out the same, wouldn't it? Of course it would… definitely.

My eyes scrunch closed, self-hate pouring into every part of me.

I should've fought harder, should've kicked him in the balls, should've bit his tongue clean out… so why didn't I? Why did I become… _aroused _when... when those things were done to me by a boy I've hated since preschool? I guess I really _haven't_ hated him as much as I want to believe it to be so. Could it be all this time I've been covering up my feelings for him through the fake hatred? As absurd as it sounds, maybe it holds some sort of truth.

I'm left bruised, bloody, and broken with no sight of my tormenter. It hurts to move, Jesus it hurts.

It's so hard to accept—too hard and I can't. He… He raped me. He _raped_ me. Although my body may have wanted it, my mind wanted anything but. I may have been willing, but he _defiled_ me like no other ever has. He penetrated into my mind, my very soul, (and my body) and stole away something in me that can't ever be replaced. My innocence, my boyhood, my sanity. All of those things. All of them…

He _stole_ them from me!

And yet I do not mourn for them, I do not anger at the thought. I'm emotionless, void of everything, an empty shell of a person who may have been whole once before. The horror of what transpired finally sinks in.

_Dear god…_

_ Did that actually happen?_

It did.

It did…

Imperceptible appendages draw themselves up to the skin of my neck. They're big, rough, and above all, familiar. The metaphorical hands of my Executioner squeeze the flesh black and blue. My throat closes shut. I can't breathe. I thought he had left, but he stayed to finish the job. That's it, it's over. I'm done for. Goodbye cruel, bizarre world.

_I can't._

_ Cartman…_

_ Eric, why?_

_ You can't be this heartless!_

_ …Can you?_

I can't breathe. The grip is becoming tighter and tighter, my vision slighter and slighter. I can feel the unoxygenized blood pulsing through my head, straining to get the sustenance it needs to survive. Unlike the blood, I'm unable to move myself and fight for my own survival. At best, my weak arms move to the invisible force and touch only me. There are no _real_ hands killing me, just an image of my own psychological decline.

The last thing I see before I pass out are the cold, hazel eyes of my enemy—of my executioner. The last thing I see are those eyes boring into me with such concentrated indifference as they turn coal black, that I'm glad I'm dying. I'm so happy that I don't have to see remorse that isn't present in his stare, that never will be.

XOXOXO

Alone, I awake sweating and gasping in my bed for the air I've seemed to lost. I nearly jump out of my skin, and well as out from under the covers and comforters that I've had for years. A flashing, red alarm clock beeps in my ear, telling me that it's time to wake up and get ready for school. Everything looks familiar, everything is still in place. It's all the same and nothing has changed and _nothing _has happened.

This can't be… that can't have been a dream.

It _had_ to have happened. Things like that don't just—they don't just come out of nowhere and there's no way that I dreamed something so _horrifying!_

I have to rush to the bathroom to look in the mirror, run into my little brother's room to check if he's sleeping soundly, as well as my parents room, all to prove to myself that I'm alive and that everything that's just happened to me, hasn't really happened.

_It all felt so real…_

I can still feel the harsh caresses, the strength he used against me… I can still feel everything, and remember everything. Even now I feel as if I'm suffocating, as if I'm dying… but none of it's real. None of it happened. None of it. I didn't die.

Not a single god damned thing.

I'm not sure… if I like it this way.

I think I wanted to die.

Then I remember a very essential part of the dream that seemed so unimportant at the time that I dismissed it without further though. I remember a blank canvas of white outside the window that brought such cold, such heartlessness. There was not a thing outside… this much puts my mind at ease for a moment.

It was indeed a dream.

Now, there's no doubt.

**XOXOXO**

Ah! Please don't kill me, I know it all wasn't real, I did it, I'm so sorry! But blame my perverted need for SOME kind of yaoi action. I haven't been able to read any fanfiction stories in a too long of a time, so I vented through this chapter.

You should be proud! I made a lemon that lasted… very long! I'm not sure how long the actual sex scene is, but I'm pretty sure I didn't skip out on any steps. So… yeah, congratulate me! No killing me or no more lemons pour vous.

Guess what, everybody! My Holocaust class ends in a week! I'm so incredibly devastated, I don't even know what to think! I'm going to miss that class so much! I've learned a lot of things that aren't taught in required courses, and I'm so glad I took the class… I'm going to miss it so much! I'm so sad TT~TT Thankfully, I still have the same teacher for next semester's twentieth century world history. So, in a way, I'm still gunna hear things about the Holocaust, but it won't be the same haha.

I learned so much, and it inspired me soooo much that I know I'm going to have a killer time finishing this story, and while it might take some time, I am so pumped to continue. I'm going to finish it as best I can, then I'll go back and fix my mistakes, so think of the coming story as a rough draft.

I know you all will give me so much motivation to continue, too, so that's just great. I love it! I love you!

Oh, and can anyone say MIDTERMS!? Oh my gosh, I'm gunna die lol I hate this time of the year! I'm so not looking forward to late night study sessions and two hour long testing times. I'm gunna crack!

I HAVE NOTHING AGAINST JEHOVAH'S WITNESSES! My mother happens to be great friends with one of them who come to our door. She comes in to have tea sometimes, and is a very nice old lady. She talks about her grandchildren all the time, very lovely.

See you in the next chapter! (Whenever it gets update…)


	6. Chapter 6

AH! Chapter 6! What can I say, when the plot bunnies attack they attack, when they don't… it's rather peacefully quiet in my head… This story is coming along so slowly!

Don't worry, though, I'll get through it haha and so will all of you… if you stick with it that long. Eheh

Also, I've mentioned this before, but to those of you who are still confused, _Alpträume Wirklichkeit _isn't a real book. But I _am_ going to try to get it published when I'm done writing it, adding and editing things included xP I've always told myself that if I can't make a career out of writing, I at least want to have one book out there just to say that I did it, y'know. I'm currently going to school to become an English/German teacher, but I'm not too sure that's what I want to do with my life… kinda late in the game to be questioning my future, but don't we all?

Anyway, ENJOY! I always have a fun time writing this story.

Warnings: Just some swearing, maybe a lot of grammar and spelling mistakes on my part. I'm kinda tired and in a rush to get this out for you because I need to leave for work about… ten minutes ago… so I just quickly proofread and took the time to write this little warning section. Not much happens in this chapter, but yet so much does at the same time!

**Alpträume Wirklichkeit**

**Chapter 6**

Last night I was up panicking for so long that I missed the bus to school and had to call Stan for a ride. I'm ashamed to admit how much that dream upset me, so I don't dare say a word to Stan or Kenny as I slide into the passenger side seat of Stan's silver Ford. This is pointless to explain, but I especially have to keep it a secret from Cartman. If it ever got around to him, I'd never live it down for the entirety of my life. At least, I won't (live it down) until the mental torture leads me to commit suicide. In turn: NEVER will I tell him.

_The dream wasn't real._

I believe this to be the only reason I'm not closed up in my bedroom refusing to open for my mother pounding on the door, or even let the light in beyond the curtains. That the wanton me wasn't _actually_ raped is the only thing keeping me from retreating into my own melancholy state of heart, never to open up for anyone or anything. Still, I have to keep repeating it just to wrap my mind around the lie that felt so real.

_It wasn't real._

_ It didn't happen._

_ It will never be real._

That's what gets me through a day of continuous glares with more heat behind them than normal from Eric, perverted smirks from Kenny that seemed a bit strained, and Stan's worried glances that come from the corner of his eye. Lunch comes fairly quickly, thank God, and I avoid the guys as much as possible in order to prevent further questioning. Those distressing themselves over me are a bit too much for my altruistic self to handle.

I tell myself to act normal, to pretend to be okay and they won't notice a goddamn thing, but I've never been good at hiding my emotions. I'm like an open book, and everyone can tell when I'm angry (which his the most noticeable), when I'm sad or stressed, or even excited. One profession I'll never be employed in, acting. Politics, too, or anything medical. Hell, not even a Lawyer or… or anything really. I guess I could be an author. Good writer's are always emotional when they're working, aren't they?

Anyway, maybe if I keep my mind off the dream, which I've been trying to do all morning, I'll be alright and I'll be normal again. Let me pray for that.

Friends gather and sit at my table like any usual day, arranging their treys and swapping food with one another as they settle in. Oddly enough, or not so oddly, everything is as it was yesterday and the day before. It's a routine we've come to accept if not come to like, but nonetheless we appreciate. It gives us somewhere to belong, somewhere to be accepted back.

"Hey, asswipe, give me your Doritos!" Eric yells playfully to the stuttering Butters.

At least, by most others.

"N-no, Eric."

"Fuck you, gaywad, and you're gaywad father."

"O-oh, hamburgers, just take the-the damn bag."

"Aw, but Butteeeers, I wanted theeeem." Kenny wines from beside the other blonde, wrapping his tan arms around the frail boy.

"Come on, guys," I say as I take a seat between Stan and Cartman, which isn't where I usually sit, but change never hurts. "You're big boys. You can share."

With that comment, I may have been saying the right words to convince them, but one look into my tired eyes and they'd know sure as day. My solution is to pull my ushanka as far down my curls as I can and lay my head on the table in front of me. At least that way I can pass off as just being tired.

A warm hand pats my back, rubbing it slightly in comfort before moving back to the side of its owner once again. Stan, I presume, must not be fooled by my charade, not that I ever thought any of them would be. This "pretending" of mine is merely a formality to let them know not to ask me about it and that I'll be alright.

Conversation carries on at the Lunch table like it would any other day as I listen in on my friends, only something catches my ear more than any of the other talk. To my right I hear a whisper below a whisper coming from two of my best friends, something hushed, something secret. What it is, I can't distinguish over the noise of the cafeteria, persay, but I do pick up on some of the words that are said.

Butters voice is too soft when he's talking, but Kenny says something that sounds like, "Roses dimmed plight," and Cartman proceeded with, "Take the stove to the marker." Yeah, not much of any sense, those three. Stan and the others take no notice of them, so maybe it's nothing to worry about.

When our dining time is close to an end, Cartman ruffles my hat and loudly exclaims, "Time to wake up, pretty boy. Had enough beauty rest for today."

He misses the whispered insult I articulate as he empties his trey in the garbage can, right before the bell rings.

XOXOXO

It's not long after that I head to English, my being once overcome by sluggish weariness now spills to the floor the closer I get to the classroom.

I'm greeted with a heartwarming smile by my favorite teacher of the year, and probably for the rest of my school life if I go to college. (Not that my mother would accept anything less, of course.)

Her animated voice ricochets through the entire room, loud enough to penetrate the walls and for any passing bystanders to clearly hear. She talks in a deeper voice, most likely trying to imitate what she thinks a teenage German boy sounds like, but it doesn't really get the point across. We all have our picture of what Kai sounds like. Still, I follow along in the book, wanting to see the literature as well as listen to it. "_'Italy? I've heard it's just as bad! Why there? Go somewhere where you'll be safe, where you'll be free! Not Italy!' I cried, tears of sorrow for my soon to be lost friend and anger for the decision his parents are forcing onto him flowing down my cheeks and I was powerless to stop them._

"_'I'm so sorry, mein Freund. __My parents are dead set, and I cannot change their minds. Believe me, I've tried so hard.'_

"_The crowd outside the window—by now, hopefully, long gone—stood forgotten and in all the world there existed to me no other worry except what was to become of Sven. If God was caring and merciful, perhaps He's allow the noirette to stay by my side through it all. Then again, if He was gentle and considerate maybe the millions who've died and will have died in the war wouldn't have lost their lives. But God is not kind to those of us who sin, and my soul has plenty of corrupt thoughts intertwined in the light that darkness is quickly overcoming. Oh, yes, I'd sinned plenty—almost every night in fact—and it had everything to do with the boy in front of me. As it was, he was the cause_."

She stops suddenly, looking at the class with raised eyebrows. "Kai's a Jew." We laugh and snicker. Of course Kai's a Jew, we've only read that a hundred times so far. Does she think we don't know that? "What I mean is, Kai's Jewish and it's pretty clear that he believes in his God. I'm just telling you all to remember this part, as it's important as the story progresses."

Craig, a kid with hair as black as Stan's and eyes as angry as Cartman's, raises a sleeve-covered hand. In a serious, nasally voice, he asks, "Is Kai gay?"

To which the class burst out laughing.

"As if it isn't obvious, Craig!" Stan's girlfriend yells over the laughter. Her black hair is pulled up in a high ponytail, her bold bangs the only thing framing her pale face.

Craig blushes in embarrassment and I almost feel a little sorry for the guy, or I would if he wasn't such an asshole half the time. We all can be, though. "I just meant—I didn't—I just… I didn't think that the school board allowed us to read a book with homosexuals in it." Such in-the-box prejudice thinking, Craig, I give you props. Nobody else is such a dick as to say something like that. "I mean—not to say it in a bad way. He's gay, woo, go gay!" Craig makes a fake rainbow motion over his head. "I'm pro-gay. It's just not something that one would normally read in a classroom. Any kind of romance, really."

The class sets in frenzied chaos. Neighbors argue with one another, each raising their voices louder than the next to out-audit the other with their views on the subject. Stan speaks with Wendy across the room, Kenny takes the opportunity to look up Bebe's blue skirt as she bends over a desk to point a finger at Butters, and Cartman throws a paper wad at the back of my head when I try to get the teacher's attention.

"Alright, class, settle down," says Ms. Kiemal. "I know that there are some themes that are unexpected, unexplored, and otherwise extravagant, but please bare with me."

"Some of us don't want to read about a filthy homosexual, Ms. Kiemal. They're disgusting and curse God with the evil sins they commit." Bebe's words shock me, as they do the teacher and based on the looks the kids in our class are giving her, anger some of them. Other's don't care (Kenny), feel uncomfortable and shift in their seats (Butters and Tweek), or look at her as if the still can't believe what she's said. Who knew Bebe Stevens is such a gay-bashing, homophobic bitch. Still, she may have been more aggressive about getting her personal opinions heard, but even I have my doubts about the volume we're reading. It's a little risqué.

"Ms. Stevens, thanks to the Civil Rights Movement that formally allowed gays to express themselves without any lawful actions taken against them, and although there are those who are still very much homophobic in our free country, I will not allow that kind of disrespect in my classroom. As a young adult, you should know how hurtful it is to hear such insults. Talking like that can lead to many unfortunate occurrences, including self harm and in the more severe cases, suicide. As such, I want you to report to the principal for irreverence."

"Since we're talking about rights, I have the right to an opinion, Mrs. Kiemal. I won't be punished for that." Way to stand up for yourself, and in turn disreputably digging yourself into a deeper hole. I applaud you, Bebe.

That's one thing my mother has beaten into me over the years: never, and I mean never, talk back to your elders. Their words are LAW, especially when it's someone who has some—if not all—authority over you. As our teacher, although we are _technically_ adults, she definitely has us under her boot.

"Speaking out discriminating banter in my classroom _is_ justifiably punishable, Ms. Stevens." A mad hand slams down onto the teacher's desk. I've only seen the teacher this angry one other time, and that was earlier in the year before any of us really knew her. Clyde thought it would be hilarious to place a basket of flour over the door before she walked in, as a sort of initiation prank that every one of our educator has had to go through. Needless to say, she didn't take too kindly to getting pelted with white fluff, and screamed her head off all the way to the principal's office, Clyde in tow behind her by the ear. "I won't repeat myself again. Go to the principal's office immediately or never show your homophobic face in my classroom again. It's up to you. I don't _have_ to teach you."

That shut Bebe up right quick, and she was out the door faster than a disease ridden cockroach that saw the sunlight.

I decide to finally break the silence, the tension becoming too unbearable. Besides, this question's been scratching at the back of my mind since I finished reading last night, anxious to be let out. "Teacher, because Kai's a Jew _and_ gay, wouldn't that make surviving the Holocaust that much more difficult? Not to mention the scene played out in front of the window where the Commander guy… uhm, Gessmein? He saw, didn't he? I never actually read that he did, but it's kind of obvious that he wouldn't just close his eyes or leave right as Sven busted through the doors, right?"

"Nice analysis, Kyle." She beams at me with a little smile. It's obvious she's still fuming by the crease between her brows and the tense shoulder's she's trying to massage loose. "I won't answer only because I don't want to give anything away, but keep what you asked in mind. It's important."

It's important.

That's what she said, but how important?

Obviously nothing extremely horrible—like death—could've happened to Kai or he wouldn't be here to tell the story, right?

Right…

There's only one way to find out!

XOXOXO

As night rolls around, I make myself comfortable on the polyester loveseat in our living room. I'm still too traumatized by my dream about Cartman to feel at ease in my own bed just yet, so for now I'll calm my mind with more of the book. With a warm cup of tea and a Terrace and Phillip blanket thrown across me, I settle into the story.

_Alpträume Wirklichkeit_

_Chapter 3_

"_Italy? I've heard it's just as bad! Why there? Go somewhere where you'll be safe, where you'll be free! Not Italy!" I cried, tears of sorrow for my soon to be lost friend and anger for the decision his parents are forcing onto him flowing down my cheeks and I was powerless to stop them._

"_I'm so sorry, mein Freund. __My parents are dead set, and I cannot change their minds. Believe me, I've tried so hard."_

_The crowd outside the window—by now, hopefully, long gone—stood forgotten and in all the world there existed to me no other worry except what was to become of Sven. If God was caring and merciful, perhaps He's allow the noirette to stay by my side through it all. Then again, if He was gentle and considerate maybe the millions who've died and will have died in the war wouldn't have lost their lives. But God is not kind to those of us who sin, and my soul has plenty of corrupt thoughts intertwined in the light that darkness is quickly overcoming. Oh, yes, I'd sinned plenty—almost every night in fact—and it had everything to do with the boy in front of me. As it was, he was the cause_.

Please tell me he isn't talking about jacking off to Sven. Please, please, _please_. But thinking back to our conversation in the classroom, he's got to be. Why is this so disturbing to me? I'm completely pro-choice—er, I mean pro-homo or whatever. People can marry who they want, but why does Kai have to be gay? Can't someone like… I don't _know_, just _anyone _beside's Kai like men? It's throwing me from the balance of the story.

I guess sir karma isn't on my side today.

_Were it not for the threat of mortality I'm consumed by everyday because of the prejudice's of men, one man in particular, I would have told Sven just that. I would have confessed my childhood infatuation to the subjected person himself and had he accepted me, I'd proceed to jump into his arms and praise Elohim above for bringing me such happiness. Reality, however, of my current place in society, under the steel-toed boot of heated German Nazi's, prevents me._

_What seemed a long time ago, Sven vowed to protect me from those monsters. Now it was my turn to protect him from the same monsters that would humiliate him, curse his very existence, and torture his devotedly Christian soul should they ever discover his heart's feelings for me, for a Jew. I would not let him suffer because of me or anyone, especially the self-righteous, God-impersonating, anti-Semitic assholes that were taking over Europe. God help us if they succeed._

"_It's okay," I said, but I didn't really mean it. "We'll figure it out. Maybe you can stay with us—"_

"_They'd never allow that."_

"—_or visit us around the holidays—"_

"_As if they'd let a Jew "corrupt" me like that."_

"—_or let you come over in the summer, we have an extra bed—"_

"_Jesus Christ above, Kai, don't you understand? My parents hate you, they hate all Jews! You think they'd even let me write a single letter to you, let alone ever see you again!?"_

_I didn't want to listen to him, Lord knows I wished everything that was going on was a lie, just one giant pain on the ass made up by the government and that the Jews were actually being sent to some grand island with sugary delicacies and plush furniture and high paying jobs and bountiful… bountiful everything. I just wanted to leave that place, leave it and not think twice and never regret it. And leave I would, but not without Stan and my parents. Irony—my greatest enemy._

_I just… couldn't fathom how someone I don't even know could possibly hate me so great an amount as they did. How could Sven's parents hate me so much when I was his best friend and had never done anything to wrong him or them or anyone they loved? That's the way of hate, though, isn't it? It's always unexplainable at the time, but now I know. Now I know that they were afraid of Hitler's wraith, so I cannot blame them for the hurt they caused me. They were just afraid, as I was, too._

_A sound came from the front door, loud and banging, knocking me from my thoughts and freezing my companion and I in our places. From the look on Sven's face, we both were thinking the same thing. "The Gestapo have found us. They're hear for us." We were afraid for our very lives, so afraid I would've wet my pants had I not been startled again when the door swung open with a thump against the wall. If they usually knock first, I didn't know at the time, but I could hear my heart beat louder and louder as the seconds ticked by. Again, the door was slammed back into the frame._

_Odd, why would the door have closed? Weren't we to be dragged out to the street and slaughtered like cattle in front of our friends and family?_

_Footsteps rushed toward the living room—our current residence. For every step the person took—we could tell it was only one person coming for us—we took several silent steps back, as if the airy distance would protect us from death. My breathing seized when the sound stopped in the archway to the room, and I nearly scared myself into a heart attack. A flash of red, a glorious blessing given onto her from God himself, let my breath out and settled my heart so much that I collapsed to the ground in tears. "Mama…" I struggled out through tears._

"_Kai, my baby, bist du okay?" She said in her scratchy voice that I have come to miss. She fell to the floor beside me and took me in her thick, protective arms. I'd never been so happy in my life to see my mother. "I was so worried. The Gestapo are making their move, we have to get out of here now before they catch—"_

"_What about Dad," I asked. "Where's he?"_

_She was silent for a good while. I expected the worst. "He… He ran off to help the others. He'll be alright, Kai-koff. He'll be alright." She sounded as if she were trying to convince herself more than me, but I stood strong for her, anyway._

"_You're right, Mom, he will be. He's tough." I looked at her once more before standing, helping her up after me, and turning to Sven. "Sven, my friend, you must go. It isn't safe here, in the home of a Jew. Go out the back way and hurry to your parents. Pack your bags and leave with them. Where ever I go, I'll find you."_

"_Kai, Kai," He shouted, hysterical. Looking back, I wish I hadn't heard what he whispered in my ear for only me to hear. If only I had shoved him out the back door as I controlled myself from doing, just to spare myself from the heartbreak._

_It wasn't long after that the Gestapo broke through the door, ordering us around and looking for any signs of trickery. If we were hiding any others, they'd surely have snuffed them out, leaving no room unchecked, no loose floorboard over looked, and no crack in any wall unsniffed (by the dogs, of course). "Any varia you may bring, but let it all fit in one bag. Just one—for that is all your measly person can carry, ain't it, boy."_

_Zephyrean winds conflicted the idea of any negative happenings, but weather tends to take on a formidable irony in these sorts of situations. Looking closely, I can see the outline of umber casted behind trees and buildings from the sun above, hinting at what the breeze wanted to obnubilate, as I march on towards the awaiting cars. The police officers said the train would take us away to salvation, but, really, who believed them?_

_As I was loaded into the train like an animal, I caught a glimpse of my mother getting loaded into the car behind mine, and my father inside the car I was headed into, before the brutal personnel stole the back from my back and shoved me into the tiny compartment—only made tiny by the amount of people inside. It's funny how I never noticed the amount of other Jews we had in our miniscule village until I was forced into too close proximity with the other Jewish males._

_That wasn't so much the problem, but how long we were cooped up like deranged chicken was._

_Before the doors were shut and locked, I turned to the little sliver of window we were allowed, and stared outside where freedom was so close, so close I could reach a hand up and touch it. It was so close, I could slick my nose out and smell it. What I couldn't reach, what I would never reach again, was my best friend looking at me through tears in the crowd around the train. His blue eyes had never looked so sad, but I had a feeling that my own look was just as misplaced. There were no tears, there was no time for that, but there was hopelessness. I knew I had a long journey ahead of me._

_With Sven's words in my head, I bit my cheek. "Sven," I mouthed silently to get his attention and nobody else's. "Sven, I'll get out. I'll get out and I'll find you. I'll travel to the ends of the earth if I have to, but I'll find you! I swear it!" Whether or not he received or understood my words, remained a mystery. _

Just as I close the paperback, a strange noise alerts me to happenings outside my living room window. It's a choice I struggle with—to ignore the sound or to discover it's place of formation (to be or not to be*). A question I'm quick to decide as I throw the TV character blankets from my form and scurry to the windowsill for a closer look. What I find astounds me, unpleasantly so, but not because of obvious reasons. There in the neighbors yard, across the street, is it a bird? Is it a lawnmower? No! It is something bigger! Something familiar! Something… orange. Someone I know!

…

What is Kenny doing sneaking out the front window of Mr. Floyd's house, making sure to grab a knapsack that looks awfully heavy… and awfully full of something that isn't his?

Without a second thought of what the consequences of leaving my home in the middle of the night might be, I rush to the door to throw on a wooly coat overtop of my pajama's and to slip on a pair tennis shoes that I'm not too sure were even mine, and set off after the sneaky son of a bitch who I call my best friend.

I blamed it at the time on my intense amount of curiosity, but I know the real reason is because I want to make sure he doesn't do anything stupid, and that he'll be okay.

Everything always comes back to health.

As I walk a block or so behind Kenny, keeping my distance so as not to be discovered, I can't help but wonder what Sven must've said to Kai, and if they'd ever see each other again. A selfish part of me wishes they won't.

**XOXOXO**

Extras~~

Here's something I thought was super cute, maybe you'll all enjoy it, too.

_A poem I am writing,_

_ My pencil I am biting._

_ Madison is reading a book,_

_ It says all Jews are crooks._

_ That is very mean,_

_ That book is so obscene._

_ Next class I have French,_

_ I'd rather go sit on a bench._

_ By Sarah_

~Pertaining to our Holocaust class when I (Yes, my real name is Madison) read _The Poison Mushroom_ (anti-Semitic propaganda), written (the poem) by my best friend who was extremely bored sitting next to me. May she never take up a career involving any kind of poetry UNLESS it's for little kids LOL though I love her to death. I'm keeping the poem as a cherished memory. BTW, she is extremely awesome at French. In high school she took all the way up to French V, and she's still taking it, so geeeeez. I wish I were half as good at German.

**XOXOXO**

I met with another Holocaust survivor, the famous Dr. Edger who was on _Oprah_ once upon a time. She's 85 but has the spirit of a child, while still possessing an all-knowing quality about her that leads you to wonder about all of the horrible things she went through. You can tell just by looking at her that she has many secrets, which is understandable given her circumstances. She was 16 when she went to Auschwitz, and found nearly _dead_ in a pile of _dead bodies_ by American soldiers. They said, "we only found her because her arm, that was sticking out from the pile, twitched at the sound of our muffled voices," or something close to that.

Anyway, here's another chapter!

FINALLY haha

I've been so busy with work and school and this and that…

BUT NO MORE EXCUSES! School is almost out, and so is work! Because the place I work at is only open to the college kids and since they're gone, well, you get the picture. That means more time to write, if I decide not to get a Summer job… sounds lazy, but I probably won't.

The YAOI ACTION is coming SOON! Don't you fret, my dearies! Just stay tuned and it'll be out faster than fast! And it'll be well worth the wait, I promise. That's a promise you can hold me to. I might even add in another oneshot just to tide ya'll over, if you want!

*Thank you, Shakespeare, for you're centuries old loved and remembered works of beautiful art. That enough credit for you, you sly bastard? Heh.


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